


Graffiti On Your Grave

by Honestmouse



Series: Sing it Out [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter Specific Warnings, Implied/Referenced Sex, Injury, Jet Star has a compliated relationship with gender, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Character Deaths, Near Death Experiences, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-SING (Music Video), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Technically underage, The Fabulous Killjoys Are Not MCR (Danger Days), The Lobby - Freeform, They live AU, Trans Kobra Kid (Danger Days), actually a lot of those, also, but anything more i say will be spoilers, but just implied, i use the f bomb like 15+ times a chapter, is it obvious I don't know how to tag, it's funpoison, lots of strong language, multiple POVs, so there's that, sorta?, zone slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 140,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honestmouse/pseuds/Honestmouse
Summary: The Fabulous Four must live with the consequences after their defeat inside Better Living Headquarters. With The Girl safely back in the desert and staying with someone they trust, The Four are left to lick their wounds underneath the very city that nearly killed them. The desert thinks they’re dead, ghosted inside the city without even their masks to put in the Mailbox. Away from the kid, out of the sand, and thrust unwillingly into the hands of The Lobby’s reining crew, The Youngbloods, The Four must deal with the aftermath of their deaths.
Relationships: Jet Star/ Kobra Kid, Party Poison/ Fun Ghoul
Series: Sing it Out [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909105
Comments: 303
Kudos: 240





	1. Where The Good Guys Die and The Bad Guys Win

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> My Chem coming back inspired me to work on this rather than putting it off for mid-November like I planned. My computer is currently down and my phone doesn't like archive very much so the tags are giving me hell at the moment. They should be updated by the next chapter!
> 
> A very big thank you to @pauladiazcruz for being such an amazing beta and helping me get my thoughts organized for this! Wouldn't be able to do it without her!  
For now, just know there will be chapter specific warnings!  
This chapter's TRIGGER WANRINGS:  
*injury/ laser wounds  
*vomiting
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Chapter title is from Save Yourself Ill Hold Them Back by My Chemical Romance*

Poison can’t see. They can’t think.

Bright, burning laser beams fly past their head, all around them. The smoke stings their lungs. It brings tears to their eyes with each panting breath they take. Their crew shouts around them, yelling desperately to one another. But Poison can’t understand them, their ears ringing far too loudly for anything to make sense.  
They can see The Girl, standing frozen in the center of the room. Her hands are over her ears and her face is twisted in blind panic and fear. She screams, the only sound that Poison can hear.

A mask is in their hands. The Drac it belonged to is at their feet. It’s face is blank, eyes closed. Dead.

The mask is heavy, weighing them down. This was a person, once. A long time ago the body at their feet had thoughts, feelings and they’ve just killed them. 

They drop the mask like it’s on fire, eyes wide as they survey the room around them. Kobra’s the closest, just a few feet away and shooting at the endless stream of Dracs pouring into the room.

Poison doesn’t get the chance to call to him, to make their way back over to him and see if the two of them can make a difference if they’re closer together.

A strong hand connects with their shoulder, pushing them roughly against a wall behind them. They hit it with a thud, their head spinning from the impact. Blinking away the disorientation, they look up to find the Exterminator looming over them.

Their gun is on the ground at their feet, knocked out of their hands when they’d hit the wall. 

FuckFuck Fuck! 

The Exterminator sneers at them, his pale lips pulling into a chilling smile. Cold, icy terror hits them as he presses the barrel of his blaster into their chin. Poison can’t look away, stuck in the horrible vertex of his eyes. There’s sick pleasure dancing in the pale blues of the Exterminator’s gaze and it’s paralyzing. 

Poison hears Kobra shout and they manage to tear their gaze away from Korse to try and find their brother in the chaos around them. He’s running towards them, shouting still as Dracs close in on him and block him from getting to them. 

The blaster presses harder into the soft part of their chin, making them dart their eyes back to Korse. He’s smiling still, watching Poison as if this is the greatest moment of his life.

It hits them then. The realization that this is it. The end.

But the moment they found The Girl, pulled her into their arms and held her so tightly… from that moment they knew they weren’t getting out of this one. It was a suicide mission after all. They just hadn’t allowed themself to think of it that way until she was back in their arms. 

Korse tilts his head, the smile never leaving his face. Poison doesn’t avert their gaze, doesn’t look to their brother or the kid. They hold his stare.

They will not let him have this, will not show him how utterly terrified they are.

If they can’t do anything else, they will not show fear.

Korse pulls the trigger and the blinding, hot pain tears through them. It’s pure agony, the worst pain Poison has ever felt. But only for a moment. They're swallowed by the inky blackness within seconds, slumping against the wall.

____________________

Kobra screams as Korse pulls the trigger. He watches in horror as his sibling slides, lifeless, down the wall they’d been thrown against.

Pure, red and burning anger hits him. He kills the Dracs closest to him without really thinking before turning his gun towards the Exterminator.  
Korse’s gun is smoking as he aims it at Kobra. Behind him, Poison lays crumpled and unmoving against the wall.

Tears pricking at his eyes and chest seizing up in terror and grief, Kobra shoots blindly at Korse. And he hits him.

The Exterminator stumbles as Kobra’s shot finds his leg. But he’s still standing. Blistering pain explodes across Kobra's chest but he fights through it. Vision failing, he turns as more Dracs run into the room. He gets one, maybe two good shots in before another blast hits him.

He doesn’t even feel where it enters him, already slipping from consciousness before he even hits the floor.

_______________________________

Fun Ghoul freezes, mind going entirely blank as he watches Kobra fall.

Gone. 

They’re both-

NO!

No. No. He can’t. They have to get out. He has to get her out. Now.

Making eye contact with Jet, they both sprint towards The Girl. Guiding her, they break out into a run. Ghoul fires behind him, taking down the countless Dracs gaining on them. Jet clears a path for them as Ghoul fights to not look at the lifeless bodies of his crew as they run.

They make it to the glass doors, somehow. But there’s too many, too many Dracs and Ghoul knows what he has to do.

Jet goes out first, The Girl following closely behind. Ghoul pulls the door closed the second the kid is out. She turns, eyes wide and terrified. But Jet grabs her, pulling her away from Ghoul and hopefully towards the getaway car that should be here already.

They’d always known that they would die for each other. It was something they said often, the weight and truth of the words never really hitting him. Not until now.

Ghoul turns, facing the wall of Dracs in front of him. He breathes out once and aims his gun. Four, maybe five of them go down at his hands. But a blast hits his shoulder, taking his breath away and making black spots explode in his eyes. He doesn’t back down.

Switching hands, Ghoul can feel himself falling but he keeps firing. He’s the last line. If he does down they’ll get the kid. They’ll get Jet. 

So he fires, over and over until another beam pierces him. He keeps firing, even as he’s falling to the ground. His body is twisted as he fights to keep his arm up. Another blast hits him, low down on his chest. Black floods his vision and he hits the floor. 

Just barely conscious and fading fast, Ghoul hears the Dracs step over him. 

_______________________________

They’ve barely made it to the car before the doors burst open and Dracs begin storming outside. The Girl is running beside Jet, panting and crying. A van screeches to a halt in front of them.

Jet turns, firing back at the endless stream of Dracs that surround him. His mind is blank, carefully closed off. If he stops for even a second to think, the weight of what’s happened will hit him.

He can't afford that. This isn’t about him.

But there’s too many, way too many.

They surround him and all it takes it one blast, square in the chest for Jet to fall. It takes him instantly and he’s already gone as he falls back onto the hood of his precious car.

Doctor Death’s van drives off, Show Pony holding The Girl close as she sobs into their chest. Dracs shoot after them but they’re out of range. 

Safe.

_______________________________

They had known that this was going to end badly.

Four rebels against the entirety of BLI’s headquarters. There was only one way that it could end.

Of course Sandman had known about it. Everyone in the desert, everyone in the City, knew what The Four were going to do.

The government had taken their kid and they were going to burn the City to the ground to get her back. It was a trap but The Four had known that. It hadn't mattered.

Sandman sits in the driver's seat of his van, his crew silent around him as they all listen intently to the radio. Stakes had easily hacked into The Four’s radio waves and had even managed to find the channel they were using to stay in contact with Doctor Death. 

They’d listened in as updates were given, above ground and waiting as the Killjoys infiltrated the City. As they found the kid, alive and okay. As they told Doc to be there with the getaway car ASAP. But it’s been ages since the last update.

There should be something right?  
Contact as they get into the Trans AM that they’d parked outside at the very least. Doctor Death was just supposed to take the kid and drive as The Four covered him in their car.  
That should call for some sort of radio chatter right?  
But there’s nothing.

“Do you think-”

Sandman shushes Benzedrine harshly as static cuts through the air. They’ve got another radio on too, listening to the main broadcasts that the City is putting out. They can’t hear the individual comms that're on the Exterminator and Dracs but they’re able to pick up the updates being sent to the Director. 

“The terrorists planted bombs. Evacuate the building!”

Looking over quickly to his best friend beside him, Sandman knows that he’s thinking the same thing. No one protests as he presses the gas pedal to the floorboards, so that must mean that Stakes and Neon Phantom are thinking the same thing.

The Killjoys are down. If the building blows before their masks can be recovered… that’s a fate worse than death.

_____________________________

They pull up to BLI headquarters to find it completely empty. 

Moving fast, because those roadblocks they’d blasted through are bound to get them some attention, Sandman and his crew step out of the car.

Instantly his eyes find the famous Trans Am. But there’s a person lying sprawled out on top of the hood.  
He’s never met The Four but he can at least recognize that this is Jet Star. Benz pushes past him, already by the car and inspecting the fallen ‘joy before Sandman can even fully process what he’s looking at.  
The Four are the fucking figureheads of the rebellion. They can’t be dead. It just doesn't seem right. It’s not their time.

It can't be. They're just fucking kids.

Sandman is positive they're not even out of their teens. Seeing Jet so still, even though he's never met him, it feels wrong.

Standing frozen, bombs and authorities forgotten, Sandman doesn’t move until Phantom nudges him with his foot.

“He’s alive. Barely,” Benz informs them, his face pale and tight.

Cool relief washes over Sandman but it's short lived. Phantom is the one who nods and moves to gingerly lift Jet Star. He carries him to their van, lying him out in one of the rows. He slides the door shut and Sandman leads them all inside.

There’s bodies everywhere. 

For there to be this many Dracs, it’s no wonder the Four didn’t make it out. Sandman tries counting them, letting his eyes roam over the large room as the others search around him. But he loses count after thirty. 

His stomach turns and he has to force himself to look away. To keep watch like he’s supposed to and not lose his lunch over the sight of the bodies all around him.

“Found one!” someone shouts beside him.

Stakes is crouched beside a dark haired man lying prone on the ground by the door they’d come in through. He’s not sure how he didn’t see him at first. But he’s not moving, eyes closed and a number of blaster wounds scorching his upper half.  
Benz rushes over, dropping down beside the ‘joy and taking his pulse. 

This one Sandman doesn’t recognize. 

But again, he’s never met them.

“Alive,” Benz says breathilly, looking up at Sandman. “But only barely.”

Phantom is across the room, messing with something on the wall so it falls to him to try and lift this person and carry them to the van. He would get Stakes to do it but he’d hurt his leg on a run into the City and Sandman knows he wouldn’t be able to support the weight. And Benz, as smart as he is, doesn’t have the upper body strength to carry another person.

So it falls to him, even though he’s like four foot eleven, to lift the dying Killjoy and carry him out. Thankfully the guy is about as small as Sandman but it’s still a struggle.  
He lays him down carefully in another row of seats, wincing at the dark, smoldering burns covering his chest and shoulder. Without pausing to check on Jet Star in the other seat, unable to stand the thought of him already dead, Sandman jogs back inside.

It’s so oddly quiet, no birdsong or pleasant music coming from the speakers like usual. There’s no one here but them. No one living anyway. Except for maybe the rest of The Four. If- if they're still breathing that is.

As he comes back in, Sandman is instantly being dragged over to the center of the room by his best friend. A blond Killjoy lays on his side, curled in on himself. He’s unconscious but Benz almost looks relieved when he takes his vitals.  
“He’s hurt but his heart is strong. Just unconscious.”

And so Phantom comes back over and lifts him. Sandman is fairly certain that the blond ‘joy is Kobra Kid, the infamous Party Poison’s kid brother. He doesn’t want to think of what would happen if Poison lived and their brother didn’t. The two of them have always been ruthless, reckless even, when it comes to defending each other. 

Phantom runs back inside a moment later, right as Sandman manages to find someone else without a mask on.

The body at his feet doesn’t look like a Killjoy. They’re dressed as a Drac but there’s no mask, their expressionless face staring unseeing into the distance. Sandman’s stomach turns again and he forces himself to look away.

He instantly finds the shock of red against the white expanse of one of the far walls. The unmistakable red and blue jacket only confirms the pit sinking in his stomach.

“Guys,” he calls as loud as he dares, his feet moving of their own accord towards the fallen rebel leader.

Poison is slouched against the wall, almost like they’d simply fallen asleep sitting up. It’s not until Sandman goes to gently shake their shoulder that he sees what’s wrong. Their head falls to the side as he shakes them, revealing one of the worst blaster wounds he’s ever seen.

The skin under their chin is just fucking gone. All that’s left is a burned and blackened hole. Benz reaches them right as Sandman loses the battle with his stomach, falling to his knees and losing everything he’s eaten. He hears the muttered curse Benz breathes as he sees the damage for himself and someone’s hand rubs Sandman’s back sympathetically.

When he catches his breath, he wipes his mouth on the back of his jacket sleeve and stands on shaky legs. Benz is crouched next to Poison’s body, face completely pale now as he presses two fingers into the spot where their pulse would be.  
It’s useless, Sandman knows it is. There’s no way they survived that.

Not point blank and sure as fuck not up the chin.

“I- I got a pulse,” Benz says in awe, his voice quiet.

“Seriously?”

“It’s faint but- but yeah they’re still here. Dunno how…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Phantom interrupts, “we gotta get outta here. It’s gonna blow.”

“How long?”

“Two minutes maybe. They’re Ghoul’s bombs and they should be right on time but they're gonna level the whole fuckin’ block so we gotta go.”  
Stakes hurries out first, going to crank the van so they can get out as quickly as possible, while Phantom carefully lifts Poison. Benz hovers, muttering about how bad of an idea moving them is.

Something falls behind them and Sandman spins around instantly. He aims his gun at a singular Drac as it staggers out of a door. It’s shot, dying, but it’s gun is on Benzedrine.  
With Phantom’s arms holding Poison and Benz’s gun not even drawn, Sandman should be afraid. But he’s not. It’s just one Drac.

He shoots quickly, knowing now isn’t the time for drawing this out. Later, he tells himself as they move hurriedly out of the building. There’s no doubt gonna be hundreds more Dracs he’ll get to kill. To take revenge on for what happened today.

Sandman hops in the driver’s seat of their van as Stakes jumps out to help them get Poison in.  
“I’ll ride with Sandman and keep The Four breathing. You two take their car. Follow us,” Benz orders, his tone not allowing for any arguing.

The others nod, sliding the van doors shut and hurrying over to The Four’s car. Benz doesn’t get like this often and Sandman feels a little bit of pride well up at the interaction. But he doesn’t focus on it long. The second he hears the roar of the Trans Am cranking he’s flying out of the parking lot and down the empty streets.

One block, they make it down one block before the ground shakes beneath them. A wall of flames explodes in Sandman’s rear view mirror, reaching almost to the top of the dome covering the City. He feels the aftershock less than a second later and his ears are still ringing as he cuts into one of the tunnels, leading them down. 


	2. Would I Die For You, Well Here's Your Answer In Spades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Life cleared the light from my eyes/And wiped the smirk from my face/It won't be seen anymore"  
~ Police Police by Frank Iero and the Future Violents~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
I hope you all have had a good week! Personally I've just been trying to come to terms with the fact that I can refer to My Chem in present tense. That shits Wild.  
Anyway, here's chapter two, I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, huge thank you to @pauladiazcruz for beta-ing this and just being amazing in general! <3
> 
> *Chapter title is from Hang 'em High by My Chemical Romance)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
* mild descriptions of wounds/burns  
*panic attacks/ nightmares  
*needles

Poison wakes slowly.

Their thoughts are lazy, slow, drifting. For a moment they’re certain they can hear someone talking, a soft, deep voice right beside them. But then it fades and they’re back in that endless darkness. 

Alone. 

Sometimes there’s a ghosting of touch on their face, like careful hands. It’s always gone before they can wake fully. Not that they’re ever truly able to tell when they’re awake or asleep.

Everything is bathed in darkness, in a numbing sort of quiet where reality bleeds into nothingness. It’s disorienting, confusing, but not bad. It’s more peaceful than anything. If a little lonely.

Each time Poison hears something, or they swear someone’s doing something to their neck, they wake up a little more. They still can’t move, nor are they able to feel any sort of sense of time, but it feels more real. 

“- the mask helps keep their- levels right. They shouldn’t need it- but we’ll have to wait and-”  
Right now, the voice sounds close, maybe right next to them. But it’s foreign, distant. Though, Poison can’t detect any malice or anything that might suggest that they should be worried.

They’re not in BLI, that much is certain. They wouldn’t still be breathing if they were. Though that begs the question of where they are and what happened exactly. 

There was a fight… something about The Girl… and then-?

Flashes of the Exterminator’s face burst in front of their eyes. His horrible grin. The sheer excitement in his eyes as he’d thrust them against the wall. 

The cool press of his blaster against Poison’s chin as he twisted his lips into a sick sort of smile before pulling the trigger. The horrible, consuming pain as they’d fallen, knowing that their crew was likely soon to follow. His eyes flash again, his smile, the gun-

“-ey no. No. Come on kid. The mask can’t fuckin’ help you if you don’t breathe.”

The voice is close again, moving something on their face as they try and shake their head. Nothing works, that bone chilling grin is ingrained into their mind. It won’t go away, won’t leave them alone and Poison shakes their head harder. They need it gone! 

They crave the blankness again. They want to be numb, to forget again.

So they fight harder, using every ounce of willpower they have to pull themself out of this, to sink back into nothing. It’s too much, too real. They can feel it, every moment of it. The pain doesn't end this time, it continues forever-

They’re alone, alone and it’s only them, only them and the Exterminator- only-

Suddenly they’re being held down, arms pinned down by their sides while something holds their head in place. They fight it, they fight with everything they have.

The Exterminator, his eyes, they’re still right fucking there. He’s right there and-

A sharp, yet tiny, pain in their arm almost goes unnoticed. They continue to fight, to try and get away from the hands holding them down.  
Poison needs to get up, they need to get away- the Exterminator is right fucking there and he’s gonna- he’s…

Everything mutes almost at once, the world ebbing into nothing but a quiet hum in the back of their mind. The image of the Exterminator fades, pushed under as Poison loses the strength to continue fighting.  
The voices are back but they're so far away that it’s impossible for them to pick up on them. It’s all fading… drifting off into… into nothing.  
The numbness is back and Poison welcomes it, lets it drag them under without a fight.

Alone.

______________________________________________________

“Shit,” Sandman breathes, releasing his grip on Poison’s arms and pushing the hair out of his eyes. 

Benz says nothing as he double checks the oxygen mask resting on the rebel leader’s face. The silence grows as he shoos Sandman to the side so that he can make sure none of the IV’s were ripped out in the middle of Poison’s thrashing.

For their part, Poison looks better than they did the other day. So, in short, they don’t look dead anymore. The color is returning to their skin and Benz no longer has someone watching them constantly. It was rough for a while, and there was a point where he wasn’t sure if they were going to make it, but just now was the closest they’ve gotten to waking in the past week. Even though they clearly weren’t actually awake just now for- for whatever the hell that just was.

“What happened?” Sandman presses, warily watching the now unconscious Party Poison.

They’d fought surprisingly strong for someone in their condition.

“Panic.”  
Rolling his eyes, Sandman stands up as Benz trashes the needle he’d used to give Poison the sedative. He knows that it was either that or risk them hurting themself or someone else, but he’s well aware of how much hell they’re probably gonna get for using it. 

Rebels, desert rebels anyway, have a thing against any sort of drugs. Especially sedatives.  
But Sandman will deal with that particular bridge when they come to it.

“Obviously they fucking panicked Benz,” he retorts, some of his frustration seeping through. “ I meant why.”

He doesn’t mean to sound frustrated but Benz should know that this has been the longest week of his fucking life. On top of trying to keep everyone in the Underground from freaking out about how much BLI is cracking down on its citizens, he’s also had to try and keep four desert rebels alive without anyone but his crew knowing they’re even here. It’s harder than you’d think and Sandman doesn’t even know the last time he slept more than a few hours. He’s exhausted and tired. 

And he knows Benz is just as tired, probably more so than he is, but that doesn’t stop him from letting his annoyance out a bit. 

“Well, they were only half awake, someplace they don’t know, surrounded by people they’ve never met. They’re injured and probably in pain. Their last memory is very likely of them being shot. So,” Benz finishes with a tired, exasperated sigh as he pushes his glasses up. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

Feeling like a scolded child, which somehow only Benz and Phantom can manage to do to him, Sandman tries a different tactic.

“I dunno,” he admits quietly, as the frustration begins to fade away. “Not… that.”

Because there was something in the way that Poison had fought them just now, their body twisting under his hands as their mouth fell open in a silent scream, it just- it hit something in Sandman’s heart. They’re a fucking kid and the things they’ve already been through, what they’ve already lost, it just- it’s horrible and sad and- fuck he just doesn’t have the words to describe what seeing them like that did to his heart. Because he’s almost old enough to be their father and- and it just isn’t fucking fair. Because he knows they never got to be a kid, were basically thrust into the rebel life the moment they’d opened their eyes. Their crew has a kid, a little girl that Sandman knows they went down trying to protect.

And it’s fucking insane how Poison can feel so much older than him but also so incredibly young at the same time. They’re absolutely tiny under the blankets Benz has them basically swaddled in, their expression so soft and calm right now as the sedative keeps them under. There’s no trace of the fearless leader that he knows they are. And it’s just-

It’s just weird.

That’s the only word he can think to call it.  
Sandman crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall as Benz finishes up. Despite his exhaustion, he refrains from letting his eyes fall shut. He can’t sleep here, has a few more hours of work yet to do before he can even think about rest. Plus, he’s not certain that the rest of The Four- well the ones who are awake anyway- would take too kindly to him sleeping on the job. 

Jet Star should be back soon. He’s taken responsibility of making sure Poison doesn’t wake up alone, something about that being a very bad idea. Sandman doesn’t know what that means but he’s learning better than to question it. It’d taken both him and Benz to convince Jet to leave Poison alone long enough for him to get something to eat. And that’d been a battle in and of itself. 

Jet’s recovering well though, thanks to Benz and the high quality medical supplies that they have access to down here. Better than what they could get in the desert by any means, that’s for sure. Logically, Sandman knows that people are gonna start questioning why they’ve wasted so much of their supplies on four random rebels but the prospect of telling them the truth is even more worrying. Just outright saying that The Fabulous fucking Four are vulnerable, weak, and staying in the Underground of all places, would only end badly. Of that he’s certain.

“Well, at least one of them was bound to have this reaction,” Benz says after a while and Sandman knows that he has a point. “Besides, we were lucky the others were more calm about it. You gotta think how it feels for them.”

He nods, not knowing what to say to that.

Because while Kobra and Jet weren’t combative, didn’t flip out like Poison just did, he knows that this is probably a worst case scenario for them. He can’t imagine- doesn’t want to imagine how it would feel to watch every one of his crew get gunned down like Jet Star did. How Kobra apparently fell trying to get to Poison…

It just hurts, deep in his soul from simply thinking about it. To live through that, to have been in the moment, yeah, Sandman should be more understanding of The Four’s reactions. 

He knows he can be an assholes sometimes, most of the time he banks off of that, but maybe right now he should try and not make enemies of these people by getting frustrated with them over something so out of their control. 

There’s a knock at the door and Phantom sticks his head in a moment later. 

“Sandman, there’s a group wanting to talk to you.”  
“Is it important?” he asks carefully.

He tries to hear out everyone down here, working together is the only way they’ve survived right under the City this long, but he’s currently a little busy. Benz isn’t supposed to be alone, just in case something goes wrong. Not that they think something will but it’s better safe than sorry. As smart as his best friend is, Sandman knows that Benz will only shoot his gun if it’s the last option. 

“Yeah. Supplies stolen outta their rooms and they’re blaming this other group. Stakes is trying to keep a full fight from breaking out but we need you,” Phantom tells him as he steps further into the room.

“Fuck, alright. But what about-”  
“I’ll hang out here with Benz.”

Sandman smiles appreciatively and pushes himself off of the wall. He claps his hand on Phantom’s shoulder and tries to look as presentable as possible, knowing that he’s probably not going to get to sleep any time soon.

__________________________________________________________

Alex is… confused.  
The room around him is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. He can hear himself breathing, can hear the sounds of footsteps far off, as if they’re outside the room that he’s in. Alex can feel the sheets that he’s under, the soft material feeling foreign and strange for some reason.

He feels… not bad exactly. More heavy, tired than anything else. There’s a gap, like something is missing, just sitting at the back of his mind. 

It’s not a bad something, at least he doesn’t think so, but it’s nagging at him. He feels incomplete almost. 

“Ghoul?” 

Someone’s to his right, their voice deep but easy. They sound familiar but it falls into that empty spot in his mind. Alex knows the voice, he’s sure that he does, but he just doesn’t know who they are.

“Ghoul? C’mon please wake up,” the person says, their voice sounding much closer now. 

A warm hand reaches over, rolling his hand so that his fingers intertwine with theirs. It’s soft, comforting but he can hear someone breathing shakily, almost like they’re holding back emotions.

Alex doesn’t know who “Ghoul” is supposed to be, maybe it’s a pet name? But he gets the feeling that they’re wanting him to wake up.

So, with some effort, Alex pries his eyes open.

The light in the room is thankfully dim and he only has to blink a couple of times to clear the blurriness from his vision. In front of him he can see the small peaks of his feet under an off-white sheet and beyond that a blank, grey wall. But when Alex finally manages to turn his head, there’s a person sitting beside him.

They look young, maybe his age- though, he realizes that’s another thing lost to the little void in his mind. He has no idea how old he is.

But, on topic, the person next to him has short, blond hair- that probably isn’t their natural color- and their face is long, angled. Their eyes are a bright blue, though there’s a wetness to them that suggests they’re close to tears.

“Ghoulie?” the person asks quietly, disbelief coloring the word. 

Again, Alex hasn’t the slightest as to who Ghoul is but he still feels the need to smile, to offer something to try and comfort this person. So he does, he gives them the most genuine smile he can. And it’s not difficult, he has a feeling that he knows them, doesn’t want them to be so sad.

“Welcome back,” they say, giving him a watery smile.

“Why’d you call me Ghoul?’ Alex manages, surprised when his voice doesn’t shake near as much as he’d thought it was going to.

The confusion he’s feeling must be evident though because the person’s smile falls as quickly as it appeared. The person’s eyes widen and they open their mouth quickly only to snap it shut again. Their hand squeezes his tightly as if they are afraid he’s just going to disappear. They shift with a grimace and Alex notices the padding of bandages under the thin shirt they’re wearing.

“Do you know who I am?” they question at last, voice fragile.

“Yes. I- I-”

Alex pauses, trying to find the right words. This person is so familiar, like he’s known them their entire life but their name is right on the tip of his tongue. Just out of reach.

Something that… something that starts with an “M”. Yeah. Yeah, he’s certain. 

M… something. 

He looks back up, back into the familiar blues of their eyes and tries to figure out their name. If he allows himself to stress over the why’s of their familiarity and the how’s of his memories just being gone, he’ll never get this. And the name is the most important part right? 

The person smiles sadly, though a moment later something deeper than sadness passes over their features. Defeat.

“Miles,” Alex exclaims, the name hitting him out of nowhere.

The person, Miles, snaps his head up quickly. He watches Alex closely for a long moment, his expression critical.

“You… you remember that but not your own name?” 

“I remember my name,” Alex defends, “ Alex. That’s- that’s my name… right?”

There’s a brief pause where Miles simply looks dumbstruck but it passes quickly. Because Alex is right… right?

“Yeah, yeah that’s your name. But like- you haven’t gone by that since before I met you,” Miles insists as he stares into Alex like he’s searching for something.

“What- what do I go by?”

“Fun Ghoul… you really don’t remember?”

“No,” Alex says shaking his head and staring down at Miles’ hand holding his. “I know you though right? Like we’re… friends?”

“Yeah. We’re almost like brothers honestly. That’s why you know my real name.” 

“You… you don’t go by Miles?” he asks slowly, trying to wrap his head around the fact that the name he managed to remember is wrong.

“No. Not- not for a long time. I’m Kobra Kid now.”

“Oh.”

Which, yeah he has no memory of that name. But it sorta suits him… Kobra Kid. 

It’s a weird name for sure but he doesn’t really get the chance to question it. Miles, or Kobra Kid, shifts in the chair and he winces, drawing Alex’s attention back to the bandages clearly under his shirt.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, carefully watching Miles’ face. 

He looks tired, worn thin. Something’s clearly happened, he's obviously recovering from being injured, and Alex finds himself worrying over him. Is he supposed to be sitting up like this? Is he in a lot of pain?

Should he convince him to lay down?

“Yeah,” Miles says softly, “ ‘m fuckin’ milkshakes. ‘Jus a little sore ‘s all.”

His words make Alex pause. They feel once again familiar but just on the other side of obtainable. He doesn’t remember what milkshakes means but he- he almost remembers remembering? 

“Milkshakes?” he finds himself asking and he watches the way Miles’ face falls again. 

“Like, good? It means good or okay. I- you- you don’t remember?”

“No? What should I remember?” 

“Where do you live?” Miles demands suddenly, his voice raising a little and gaining a desperate edge to it. 

Alex thinks hard, closing his eyes and fighting to remember.

“District two?”

When he opens his eyes Miles is staring at him, his eyes impossibly wide and so full of hurt and fear that it almost takes his breath away. Why is he looking at him like that? 

That’s where he lives. Alex can picture his bed, blankets piled high-because he can never have enough- and his dog curled up in the corner of the room. As far as he’s concerned, this is huge progress. He remembers something. So why is Miles looking at him like that?

“Ghoul…” 

The way he says that name, so broken and desperate, it strikes a match inside of Alex. That may be a memory, he knows for a fact that it is, but it’s not… it’s not the right one. Not the most current? 

It’s not right. That much he does know. That’s not the answer Miles was looking for.

“We live in the desert. We- you haven't lived in the City for… eight or nine years.”

Oh. 

Alex doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that. So he keeps quiet, focusing on the soft fabric of the blankets under his hands. He’s tiring, can feel his body begging him to fall back asleep. 

Was he hurt too? Is that why he can’t remember anything and is exhausted from just this simple conversation?

But he’s not sore, not that he can tell anyway.

“What… what happened?” he whispers at last, voice nothing but a ghost in the unmoving air around them.

Miles takes a sharp breath, like thinking of what’s happened is impossibly painful.

“We went down. All of us. I- Poison was first and I- I fucked up. I wasn’t even hurt that bad, at least nowhere near as bad as you ‘n them, but I fell and- and they got you next. Jet told me you sacrificed yourself… that you held the Dracs off so that he and the kid could try ‘n escape. But they- they didn’t make it. Jet was shot too.”

There’s an edge to Miles’ voice, a pain that Alex knows that he should share but those names… they don’t hold any sway. He doesn’t have any faces to put to them. But apparently he cared enough about them to die for them.

Oddly enough… that’s something that he does remember. Just looking at Miles right now, Alex knows for a fact, without an ounce of doubt, that he would die for him. It burns in his mind, that he would do anything for Miles. For his friends. He doesn’t remember them exactly but he knows how much they mean to him. Like he knows that Miles is telling the truth because that… sense of sacrifice, that he remembers clear as day.

“Do-do you-?” Miles cuts himself off, as if he both desperately needs and dreads the answer.

“I’m sorry.”

It feels like the right thing to say. Even though Alex knows that it fixes nothing, that it doesn’t change the fact that he knows he’d die for Miles, for those people, but he can’t remember them. 

“It’s okay,” Miles says suddenly, shaking his head and taking a deep breath as if coming to a decision. 

“But…”

“No, no it- honestly it is. Maybe it’s better that you don’t remember.”

“What?” he asks, voice quiet in shock and exhaustion.

Because not remembering doesn’t feel okay. It feels wrong and empty and-

“Not remembering is better than- than reliving it.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t thought of that. Whatever happened, it must have been bad.

“But we made it,” Miles adds after a moment. “We all made it and-and fuck I’ll take that over anything else that could’a happened.”  
He squeezes Alex’s hand, his smile more determined than sad now. It feels natural. 

“Okay. Um…” he pauses, debating on whether or not to ask. “Who are those other people? The ones you said were hurt too?”

“Poison ‘n Jet?”

Alex nods, feeling responsible as Miles deflates a bit in the chair he’s in.

“It’s a long story... and we’re both tired. You should sleep Ghoulie, I’ll tell you all about ‘em when you wake up okay?”

“But-” he begins, ready to protest that he’s fine and he does really want to know about these two people.

Miles had mentioned a kid too? Yeah, Alex is pretty sure that he did. He only has the faintest recognition of ever knowing a kid but… but he suddenly needs to know if they’re okay. Because Miles had said something about trying to get them out and so that means the kid was in danger. That feeling returns, the ghosting of a memory pulling at him to want to protect someone he doesn’t remember.  
“No. No, I- just… next time okay? Please.”

It seems like there’s more that Miles wants to say but he’s stopping himself. For some reason. Miles glances warily towards the doorway, as if someone is going to come in and hear this conversation. Though Alex doesn’t know why that might be a bad thing. They’re just talking. 

So Alex just nods and lets Miles tuck him in a bit. He feels warm, safe under all these blankets. Miles’ hand in his, the comfort he’s bringing him is familiar, yet unfamiliar. It’s all so confusing, disorienting to almost remember but falling just short of the truth each time. 

“Thank you,” Miles whispers as he rests his head in his free hand. “And, I’m sorry.”  
“What are you sorry for?” 

Alex is almost asleep now, weighed down by whatever injuries he apparently got by sacrificing himself. It’s a weird thing to not remember. Like the action itself is completely blank in his mind but… but he knows he’d die in an instant for Miles. No questions asked.

He gets nothing in response to his question but a broken smile, too faint to be at all comforting. It makes him worry. 

What has he forgotten?

Does he really want to remember whatever it is, since the small amount he has to work with right now is already painful enough.

“A lot of things,” Miles whispers, unable to meet Alex’s eyes but he sighs and the tension seems to leave him all at once. 

He brightens a little and runs his hands through his short, blond hair. When Miles looks back to him, he’s able to see the relief in his eyes. 

“Get some rest okay? We can- we can figure this out later.”

“Okay,” Alex agrees quietly as he settles back down into the soft blankets around him. 

“Oh, and uh… Alex?” 

“Yeah?”

“Don’t use your real name. You gotta go by Fun Ghoul now.”  
“Why?” he finds himself asking, a little of his suspicion showing.

“ ‘cause real names hold power. Especially here.”

_____________________________

Jet walks slowly down the hallway. He’s got the second half of his sandwich wrapped carefully in a piece of wax paper and a bottle of water- real fucking water- in his other hand. 

The soft, cloth shoes that they’ve given him make little noise as he walks. It’s weird not wearing his boots, or his jacket. 

Living in the desert, you get used to those sorts of things. You never take off your jacket. You just don’t. And he feels almost naked without it, without the well worn leather and familiar colors. Yet he knows that this is necessary. Though he’s beginning to despise the stupid fucking baseball hat that he has to wear. 

He looks absurd, walking around in borrowed sweatpants with legs that are a good three inches too short on him and a t-shirt that shows his middle should he even think of raising his arms. 

Truthfully, he barely even looks like himself. Not with the stiff movements caused by the nearly healed wound on his chest. Especially without his jacket.

But that’s the point. If anyone were to know who they were… things would go downhill. Quickly.

So he resolves himself to living with looking like he raided a lost and found box from an elementary school. 

Turning the corner, he spots Benzedrine slipping out of the door leading to Poison’s room. Phantom is already walking in the opposite direction down the hallway while Benz stays back. He hasn’t spotted Jet yet and he can’t help but notice the stress rolling off of the doctor in waves. 

Has something happened?

“Hey Benz,” Jet calls as he walks up, flashing him a smile as a sort of peace offering. 

Benz returns the gesture and gives Jet an up and down look.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, the doctor voice- as Jet likes to call it- coming out.

“Good. Got some food, couldn’t eat all ‘a it though. So, figured I’d bring it back to the room ‘n keep Poison some company.”

“Actually,” Benz begins nervously. “Uh…”

He trails off and Jet tries his best to not get frustrated. In the short amount of time he’s known Benz, he’s quickly realized that he likes to fully plan out whatever it is he’s trying to say. So, long pauses like this seem to be normal but they usually accompany him telling Jet something that’s not good. Like the fact that not even the City’s technology could fix his eye.

But it wasn't like he’d been hoping for something like that. Jet knew from the moment it happened that he was going to have to live with it. It’s far from easy but he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job so far. 

If he could just get the fucking headaches to go away.

“Um… Poison sorta woke up,” Benzedrine says at last as he cleans his glasses with the hem of his shirt. 

“They did?”

Jet can’t keep the excitement out of his voice, doesn’t want to because Poison’s the last one to wake up. They were hurt the worst, gave them all the biggest scare and it’s a goddamn fucking miracle that they survived at all. So excuse him if he gets excited that they are finally awake.

“Yeah… well sorta. They opened their eyes for a bit but I don’t- they really weren’t here. If that makes sense? I believe they would have woken completely but something either spooked them or triggered a panic because they had a… a sort of fit.”

“Is Poison okay?” Jet demands the moment Benz finishes.

Fear and dread are beginning to pool in his gut, flashes of Poison being shot. The utter panic he felt as he watched every member of his crew- the people he’s supposed to fucking protect- get gunned down.

“I had to give them a sedative, to keep them from hurting themself or Sandman and I.”

Jet pulls a sharp breath, already knowing the absolute fit his leader will have the moment they find out about the medicine. They’re already gonna bitch about the IV’s and he kinda doesn’t want to be there when they find out about the apparent sedative they were given against their will.

“I know,” Benz adminishes, “ but it was the only solution at the time. They’re asleep again and I am confident that they haven't further injured themself.”

Forcing himself to breathe deeply and not let the anxiety run rampant in his mind- more images of Poison falling, their limp body sliding down the wall, the smell of the laser smoke and the sound of the beams hitting everything around him- Jet nods gratefully. He’s genuinely relieved that they didn’t hurt themself, he has seen first hand how bad their nightmares can get.

“Thank you.”  
Benz smiles, tired lines forming under his eyes. Jet wonders when the last time he slept was. 

“It’s my job,” he says, like saving the lives of four extremely lucky rebels was an everyday thing for him- maybe it is. “Go in and get some rest. Finish your food too, you’re all entirely too skinny for my liking.” 

Biting back a comment about how no one here seems to grasp how little food there actually is in the desert, not to mention trying to keep a growing child properly fed, Jet thanks him again for his help and steps into Poison’s room.

The lights are dimmed down so much that he can barely even see the bed that rests in the center of the room. It’s quieter in here, mostly soundproof to cancel out the noise of the hundreds of people milling about around them. At the moment- Jet glances to the old, analog clock on the far wall- it’s four am. So most people aren’t up yet. Just the late night shifts and people like Benz and the rest of his crew.

He’s thankful for the peace and quiet, really he is. You wouldn’t think that the desert could be loud but it is.

There’s always something. Music or claps, parties and raids. Sound is everywhere and most of the time it’s a good thing, keeps you grounded. But at the moment, Jet’s grateful that if he wanted to, he could close his eyes and rest his head without worrying about an ambush. Or a desperate radio call from some poor soul out in Two who needs their help.

He crosses the room and sets the remnants of his meal down on the small wooden table that rests against the far wall. Poison lies unmoving, quiet in their bed. 

It feels wrong.

They’re not supposed to be so small, so fragile. Jet’s used to the burning fire in their eyes as they lead them into a fight. He’s grown to expect the fearlessness, the constant movement. Poison can’t sit still. It's never more than a moment before they’re jumping up to do something, counting food rations or cleaning out the car. They’re always doing something. As if the moment they stop, the moment they sit still everything will come crashing down around them.

And who is Jet to say that it won't?

Though, that isn’t the point is it?

Sure they’ve all been hurt before-what ‘joy hasn’t?- but not like this, never this bad. Not even patching them up after the fight when The Girl had been taken… not even that was close to how bad this is. 

Because they lost. Big time.

They lost and… and fuck Poison may be the leader, the bright red streak across the desert that everyone recognizes instantly, but Jet is responsible for them. For all of his crew. He’s the one who has to keep Kobra from trying to race even though his helmet is badly broken and wouldn’t actually protect his head at all should he inevitably wreck. He keeps Ghoul, for the most part, out of the blast range of his own bombs. And Poison, Poison he keeps from self destructing under the weight of the entire fucking rebellion.

He’s not sure who’s bright idea it was to make them carry so much on their shoulders- be that the Witch or Destroya or someone, something else- but he knows he’s pissed at whoever it is. Because Poison doesn’t deserve it, shouldn’t have to be the one lying in this bed still fighting to wake up. Not when Jet knows for an absolute fucking fact that their first coherent thoughts are going to be spent blaming themself. 

That’s what they do. They blame the failures on themself and Jet has had to talk them down from that particular ledge way too many fucking times. 

He sighs and practically falls down into the uncomfortable wooden chair by their bed. 

Poison’s face is soft with sleep, features relaxed and you’d almost think they were sleeping if it weren’t for the oxygen mask firmly strapped over their nose and mouth. Or the stark white bandages covering their chin, where they’d had to use something called a skin graft to try and repair the damage because it was so bad.

Jet’s never heard of a skin graft but then again, he’s only got field training. He never wanted to be a medic, it’s just what his crew needed and something he’s moderately good at.

But he knows that the IV’s and mask and everything are a good thing, they’re helping Poison wake up. Helping them recover. And yet he dreads the moment that they do.

Coming to terms with what happened… Jet knows that he can’t change the past but he just feels like there was something he could have done differently. A way that he could have ensured that none of his friends were hurt. Where no one almost dies.

It’s unrealistic, he knows this, and glancing back down to Poison’s sleeping form, Jet knows that he will do everything he can to ensure that they don’t blame themself. 

There’s a soft knock on the door, so quiet that Jet almost doesn’t hear it. He lifts his head as it swings open and Kobra walks in.

“Hey.”  
“Hey,” Jet says as loudly as he dares.

Kobra closes the door behind him with a soft click and stiffly walks over to his sibling’s bed. He sits down with a bit more grace than Jet had but not by much. 

“Ghoul’s awake.”  
And that has Jet absolutely beaming despite everything. Ghoul’s been in and out of it for days now, at times reacting when they’d say something to him but other times completely deaf to the world around him. To hear that he’s finally woken up, properly that is, sends a welcome relief through Jet.

“Thank the Witch,” Jet whispers, shaking his head.

“He doesn’t remember.”

Looking up at Kobra, Jet tries to figure out what he means.

“He doesn’t remember,” Kobra repeats, sounding more forlorn than Jet’s ever heard him. “He only has like- our real names and that’s fuckin’ it.”

Jet can only blink, his mind slowly trying to piece together the words Kobra is saying into a tangible sentence.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just gone. All of his memories of the desert, of bein’ a ‘joy. All of it. Gone.”

“But you said he knew our real names,” Jet tries desperately, his mind still unwilling to wrap around the truth. “He didn’t find those out until he’d been outta the City for years.”

“I know. I know but I called him Ghoul and he actually fuckin’ didn’t know who that was.”

“Fuck…”  
It’s all Jet can manage.

Because on top of everything that has already gone wrong for them, of fucking course Ghoul would lose his memory. And Jet’s not upset with him, couldn’t even imagine ever thinking that this was remotely his fault, but he just- he just doesn’t know what to do.

What the hell is he supposed to say?  
How can he comfort Kobra while Poison lays unconscious between them, while Ghoul doesn’t even know who they are or why they were hurt?

“Jet,” Kobra’s voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him back into the moment as cool hands cup his face gently. “Shhh. I’m right here.”  
Conscious of Kobra’s injuries despite everything, Jet buries his face in his boyfriend’s shirt. The tears come a moment later, as if they were waiting for the second he’s safely wrapped in Kobra’s arms to surface. They sting his cheeks as they fall and his throat feels too dry and his face far too wet, but he doesn’t hold back.  
Everything comes out. The fear, the hopelessness and devastation. The guilt. 

And he lets it.

Kobra doesn’t say anything, not really. He simply runs his fingers through Jet’s hair- the hat forgotten somewhere along the way- and murmurs quiet words in his ear as he slowly calms. The words don’t really have a tangible meaning but the gentleness to Kobra’s voice, how tightly he’s holding Jet, it helps. God it helps so fucking much.

He knows the moment Kobra let's go that the anxiety will start to build again. But for now, he’s safe and protected. And when it inevitably gets to be too much again, Jet knows that Kobra will be there.  
“Shh baby,” Kobra soothes, kissing the top of his head as the tears seem to have finally run dry. “I’m right here. We’ll figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll see you all next week for chapter 3!!  
If you liked it, feel free to leave a comment or kudos. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!! <3
> 
> Oh, also for clarification, so far we know that:  
Fun Ghoul= Alex  
Kobra Kid= Miles


	3. I'm Not Dead I Only Dress That Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I still remember them/Covered in ash, covered in glass/Covered in all my friends/I still think of the bombs they built"  
~ The Only Hope For Me Is You by My Chemical Romance. This fits in a metaphorical way... not so much a literal one but this song's mood really reminds me of this fic!~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!  
I wanna say a huge thank you to @pauladiazcruz for being a truly amazing beta. I don't know what I'd do without her honestly. <3  
I hope you all enjoy!  
* Chapter title is from Boy Division by My Chem*
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
*very mild descriptions/talk of injuries  
*drug references

Blackness. 

That’s all they can see.

But it’s not a threatening darkness, nor does it feel empty. Rather it’s simply there. They’re warm, that much they do know. Warm and comfortable. 

There’s no hurry, no desire for them to escape. It’s peaceful.

Flashes of a face appear in the darkness that surrounds them. 

The Girl, smiling and laughing as someone hands her the robot toy she’s grown to love so much. There’s no sound but Poison can still somehow hear the sound of her laughter. It brings a smile to their face, one that they can’t feel but know is there all the same. 

The image changes, The Girl belting out lyrics to the car’s radio as they speed down Guano. Her hair blows violently in the wind and none of their voices can be heard over the music. 

Then it’s a slightly newer memory, one from just a few months ago. The Girl sitting up on one of the counters in the diner, her face scrunched up as she fights off tears. Because she may be five but she’s already learned that killjoys don’t cry. Especially not over scraped knees. 

Watching the four of them get blasted every other week has left it’s impact on her it seems. 

All the same, Poison watches through their own eyes as they gently clean the small scrapes and place multi-colored bandaids over top. They kiss the pads of their fingers and press them gently against the bandages, finally making her smile. She wipes the tears from her eyes and they help her hop down. 

Then it changes, the blackness ebbing down into a soft grey. Poison watches their brother as he begs them to come with him to the desert. They can still feel the pull on their arm as he basically dragged them to freedom. The determination in his eyes as they’d fought through the withdrawls, stepping up and taking care of them like they’re supposed to do for him. 

They watch through their past self’s eyes as they teach Kobra how to shoot. How his hair was still brown and shaggy as he tried to grow it out. As he hits the tin can they had set up as a target first try, dead on. 

The two of them sitting huddled by a megar campfire, shivering from the cold. A blurry movement to their left as an unknown person sneaks up and tries to steal their only bag. Kobra had tackled the thief rather than shooting him. Which turned out well because the person trying to steal their supplies was none other than Fun Ghoul. He’d been young, just like them, and alone. 

And Jet had seemingly appeared right when they needed him. A friendly face after a nasty clap that’d left Poison with burns all up their leg. These memories aren’t exactly physical, no images to go with them, but they can remember how careful he was helping them back to their newly found diner. How he’d stayed to make sure Poison made it through the night and simply never left.

They vaguely wonder where they are right now, why the blackness is slowly creeping back up and dragging them down once again. But they don’t wonder long, not when the images of their crew flash faintly against their mind. 

___________________________________________

“How much longer do you think it’s gonna be?” 

Jet looks up from the bowl of chili in his hands. The warmth from it is sending pleasant tingles through him, combating the drafty chill that lingers down here. He doesn’t remember the last time he had chili, isn’t even sure he’s ever had it at all. 

But he pulls his attention away from those thoughts and towards the frown lines that are etching themselves into Kobra’s face. Despite directing his question to Jet, he’s not looking at him. His attention is solely on his sibling, their pale hand held tightly in his own. Kobra’s bowl is resting forgotten on the end table, still steaming up into the cool air around them.

“For what?” Jet questions, not following. 

Kobra doesn’t answer right away. And Jet can’t help but notice how the angles of his face are sharpened by the low light. There’s a lot swimming just below the surface of Kobra’s mind, Jet’s able to see the fear and stress as it mixes. He can see the tension in the way he’s sitting, in the grip that he has on Poison’s hand. Like he’s afraid that they’re gonna go away if he lets go. And while Poison is far from the condition they were in when they’d arrived, Jet knows how seeing them like this is on Kobra. He never does well when they’re hurt. Poison’s the same way, they get all cagey and stressed anytime Kobra is hurt or sick. But for all the shit they’ve been through, Jet can’t help but admit that this is by far the worst. They’ve all been hurt, they’ve all been in life threatening situations but- this somehow is so much worse.

“Until they wake up.”

“I dunno,” Jet breathes, watching the way Poison’s chest rises as well in a shallow breath. “Soon probably. Benz said-”

“I don’t give a shit about what he said.”

“I- uh-” Jet stutters, caught off guard by the bluntness of Kobra’s interruption.

Kobra sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. Jet watches the way his eyes seem to dart between his sibling’s sleeping face and their connected hands. He looks more troubled than Jet’s ever seen him. And that’s saying something. 

But is there anything he can do to help? 

It’s not like he can snap his fingers and Poison will wake up and everything will be okay. As much as Jet wishes that were the case, that he had the power to fix things so quickly, he knows that there’s no point hoping for something like that.

“Why do we trust them?” Kobra says at last, finally looking up to Jet with wide, vulnerable eyes.

“Who, the Youngbloods?”

“Yeah, I mean how the hell do we know they’re not working for BLI?”

It takes Jet’s breath for a moment simply from the sheer emotion that’s brimming in Kobra’s gaze as he stares at him, waiting on him to answer. He should have read this a little better because all he’s been thinking about is how the state of their friends is probably causing Kobra to act and think like this, when the signs are all there for this too. Kobra’s shit at trusting people.

There’s been times, many, many times, especially in the beginning where he has had problems even trusting his crew. Jet knows for a fact that Kobra doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t just set out to distrust everyone else. And when he does trust, it’s with all of himself. It’s in this, in the way he's telling Jet what’s wrong because sometimes Jet is too slow to pick up on exactly what’s bothering his boyfriend. 

Kobra wouldn’t say a word to anyone else and Jet doubts that even The Youngbloods know that he’s suspicious of them. He’s good at that, hiding away shit and keeping everyone in the dark. But this is also progress. Kobra’s telling Jet what’s wrong. 

Now he just has to figure out if Kobra’s suspicions are correct. 

You don’t get far in the desert without learning how to doubt people. Trust is almost a dirty word, something saved only for those in your crew. You don’t trust strangers, you don’t trust other 'joys, and you sure as hell don’t trust something that seems too good to be true. That’s how you get ghosted in a heartbeat. 

So, Kobra’s mindset is actually pretty helpful. They’ve managed to avoid quite a few bad situations thanks to how well Kobra’s able to read people. For the most part, if he says that someone’s bad news, they are. 

But. He has been wrong before. 

Especially in situations like the one they’re in now, where his anxieties about his sibling and best friend could possibly sway his opinions.

The Youngbloods saved their lives. Jet has never even fucking seen stitches that look so clean and neat as the ones that Benz put in his chest. He’s never seen a real IV or breathing mask like the ones Poison’s hooked up to. You just don’t have that in the desert. Fuck, you’re lucky if you can find some antibiotics most of the time.

And this shit is expensive, Jet knows that. He’s had to make due far too many times, praying that sub-par medical supplies will be enough to keep his crew from getting dusted by their injuries. But the Youngbloods have given up a fuck ton of their supplies to help them. And truthfully, Jet can’t think of a negative reason for them to do so.

In short, Jet doesn’t know what to think. But he can’t say that.

It’s not what Kobra needs to hear. 

“Kobra,” Jet says slowly, trying to keep his voice neutral and conversational. “They saved our lives. Why would they do that if they were working for the government or out to get us?”

Kobra pauses and fiddles with Poison’s fingers a little as he thinks. Being around his sibling has always helped him, something Jet suspects is a remnant of the two’s time in the City. If Poison were awake right now, Jet’s not sure which side they’d be on. They’re suspicious of people too but it’s a little more calculated than Kobra’s gut feelings.

“I- I dunno. Information maybe?” Kobra says at last.

They both startle as Poison rolls their head over. For a moment, Jet’s certain that they’re waking up. But their eyes never open and their breaths remain just on the side of too shallow. Kobra’s face falls and he takes a shaky breath before continuing. “Maybe they wanna make us think they saved us. But we’re really just fucking prisoners and they’re just waiting on us to get comfortable and spill somethin’!”

Kobra’s voice is raising now and Jet is slowly realizing that this isn’t just residual stress from Poison’s current condition. He actually doesn’t trust the Youngbloods. Which means that Jet’s gonna have to either shut this down fast before Kobra accuses the people who are helping them of being traitors, or he’s going to end up helping Kobra find proof of the Youngbloods ill intentions. 

“That’s a lotta work,” Jet tries. He’s attempting to think of anything, any give away that could be used as proof that Benz and his crew aren’t on their side. "Why would they do all ‘a that when they could’a just let us die in Headquarters. I mean, another few minutes an’ we’d been gone Kobra, you know that. Why go through all of this trouble?”  
“For fun!” Kobra all but shouts, though he winces and shoots a guilty glance towards Poison. But they haven't moved again. Somehow that makes Kobra grow all the more desperate. “I don’t know Jet. But somethin’ feels off. We don’t know these people, why on earth would they wanna help?”

“Kobes, do you really think that we can’t trust them?” Jet asks quietly, bringing a hand up to rub at the tender, healing skin on his chest. 

“Yes,” he says instantly, squeezing Poison’s hand a little more tightly.

Honestly, Jet’s been sitting and moving around too much today, and he should probably head back to his room and rest for a bit. But clearly, he’s needed more in here.  
Because Kobra has come to him with this. And that is a huge thing for him. Jet can’t, doesn’t want to just shrug off his gut feelings. They’ve been right one too many times and besides, Jet cares too much about Kobra to just shut him down like that.

Fuck it. The worst that can happen is that they’re proved wrong. So he might as well help Kobra get to the bottom of this.

Poison makes an odd sound, something between a muffled groan and a sigh. Instantly Jet focuses on how tightly Kobra’s holding their hand. It doesn’t look like it's enough to actually hurt them but Kobra follows his gaze, and he pales as he notices how hard he’s gripping their hand. Guilt flashes across his features, but it’s buried in an instant as he lets go and the neutral expression falls back into place. 

He stands suddenly and Jet thinks for a moment that he’s going to come over and sit on this side of the bed with him. But he walks instead to the door without turning back around. 

Kobra pauses, one hand on the handle like he’s debating something. Knowing him, and Jet does know him, his mind is going full tilt. 

Suddenly Jet realizes that he’s not told Kobra that he’s going to help him. He still thinks Jet doesn’t believe him and-

“Don’t leave ‘em alone.” he says quietly, back still turned away from Jet. “ I’m gonna go check on Ghoul.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What?” Kobra asks, finally turning to look at him.

Jet stands slowly and sets his bowl down on the counter. His chest protests the movement but it’s easily ignored.

“If you’re gonna go scrounge up info,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “least let me come with you.”

“No, Jet you’ve been walkin’ around all day and-”

“And you haven't?” Jet challenges.

“Yeah but-”  
“You’re hurt too, dipshit. ‘N you’ve been going between this room and Ghoul’s all day.”

“I don’t wanna wait,” Kobra insists a little desperately. “What if somethin’ happens while we’re sleepin’ and-”

“It won’t. And you don’t gotta sleep. Just rest for a little while, eat your food.”

Kobra sighs and his grip visibly tightens on the door handle. If he goes to leave, Jet won’t stop him. But he hopes he’ll stay. 

“Okay,” Kobra says at last, letting his hand fall from the door handle. 

Jet sits back down heavily in the seat, groaning as the healing skin is pulled. He can feel Kobra’s concern from across the room and Jet already knows what he’s gonna say before he even opens his mouth. 

“Are you okay?”

Giving Kobra an easy smile, Jet nods and grabs his bowl from the nightstand. The chili is already cold but honestly he doesn’t mind. He’s hungry and it tastes good.

Besides, he’s gotten the Proper Nutrition lecture from Benz at least twice now. Though what he can’t seem to get him to grasp is that it’s a hell of a lot harder than you’d think for him to actually finish a meal this size. He’s used to something happening, having to put it down or give it to someone who needs it more than he does. But there’s plenty of food here. Which is honestly, the weirdest part about this place.

There’s just stuff, supplies and people and food and-

Everything they struggle for, everything he’s learned to live without or in short supply, is just right fucking there. 

Kobra comes over a moment later, stiff movements as well. It’s always a challenge to get him to actually admit if he’s in pain or not. He’ll lie right to your face and say he’s fine while hiding blaster wound under his jacket. But Jet knows that he is okay this time, just sore. He’s probably tired too, if the way he’s been bouncing between rooms is any indication. 

They eat in silence, though it’s a comfortable one. The quiet is calming and Jet is thankful for just being able to have this moment.  
It’s funny, what nearly dying does to you. He’s finding himself noticing the little things. Like the way Kobra’s hair smells. And not in a bad way.

Jet’s just used to the dirt and bleach smell that Kobra’s always had. It’s hard to find soap and shit in the desert, especially anything other than unscented, homemade bars. But while staying here, Kobra’s been using something fruity and Jet has realized that he abso-fucking- lutely loves it. 

And like how yesterday he visited Ghoul to see if he might remember him. It was absolutely insane to see someone he knows, someone he’s been in a crew with for years just straight up not recognize him. It hurt, of course it did. But Jet had also gotten to sit down and talk to a version of Ghoul that’s a lot like the kid he met so long ago. Except, there’s no anger. 

He’d still been -more than- a little feral when Jet wondered into their group, lashing out and hiding himself away. Scared.

Over time he’d grown into the fierce rebel that Jet knows, the kind of guy who’d been able to fall for Party Poison themself and keep his knees after making a move. Which was honestly a miracle.

But with his memories gone, Ghoul is quiet. He’s still a little shit, something Jet doesn’t think even the City’s drugs could get rid of, but it’s more subdued. It’s sly jokes and rolled eyes. It’s strangely familiar.

And when he’d just belted out, mid conversation, Jet’s real name, let’s just say that they were lucky it was only the three of them in there. If Benz had over heard… Jet’s not sure he’d be able to keep Kobra from killing him. 

It’s odd though, the things that felt so familiar with Ghoul despite everything. The way he brushes his fringe out of his eyes every two seconds, how he talks with his hands. How childish his laugh is when he’s genuinely laughing. He may not be Fun Ghoul. But he’s the same person. Jet honestly was expecting something horrible. Like him being a stick in the mud kinda person, like someone in the City. 

But he’s not.

Jet glances over to Poison, like he seems to be doing often lately. They’re in the same position as always, eyes closed and breathing shallow as they rest. Kobra’s quiet on the other side of the bed, either lost in thought or too tired to make conversation. 

Poison just looks so young and he knows it’s cliche to say that. Everyone says that when they see someone they care about in such a position. But even though he’s only a few months older than them, Jet can’t help but feel like Poison’s closer to The Girl’s age. That age where you’ve got freedom and are independent but still need protection, need someone watching over you. 

They look far too pale and Jet is once again reminded of the moment they’d fallen, smoke surrounding them as they slid down the wall. Poison had been unconscious almost instantly, according to Benz, but that doesn’t stop the ache that blooms deep in Jet’s chest at the thought of what that must have felt like. He doesn’t remember getting shot exactly, just shooting one minute and waking up here the next. Jet’s thankful for that. But he can only pray that Poison doesn’t remember. As inconvenient as Ghoul’s memory loss is, it’s almost a blessing. 

Jet watches Poison’s chest rise and fall, the way that he knows there's an old blaster scar dead in the center. They’d been shot there about a year ago now, the same place Jet’s fresh wound is. They’d gotten hit trying to get The Girl to safety during a sudden clap that’d gone south. It’d been terrifying, the closest he’d gotten to losing them. Until now. 

He pauses. Watching their face a moment to make sure that he’s not hallucinating but- no. It must just be wishful thinking because there’s no way that they’re smiling. There’s no goddamn way.

But it’s there, the slightest upturn of their pale lips, barely visible underneath the mask they’re wearing.

They’d shifted earlier, so maybe they’re coming out of the sedative more quickly than he’d thought they would? Which is a good thing. 

A fucking miracle at this point.

Poison sighs again, the sound barely audible through the soft hiss of the mask covering the lower half of their face. They don’t move but the smile remains.

Kobra notices, his eyes wide and hopeful as they both watch Poison for a long moment. They must be dreaming, that’s the only reason he can come up with for why they’d be smiling. It puts a smile on his face, just the thought of them being so at ease. That alone unwinds some of the painful coils in Jet’s chest. 

He sets his empty bowl aside and scoots his chair a little closer to Poison’s bed. He wonders what they’re seeing, what could be so calming to put such a relaxed expression on their face.

The smile mixes oddly with the stark whiteness of the bandages and the weird shape of the breathing mask, making Jet think of those old outtakes he used to watch from TV shows and movies. Where the actors would be laughing while their makeup made it look like they were dead. 

“Do you think they’re gonna…”

Kobra’s voice is shaking, nothing but a whisper but Jet nods.

“Maybe.”

So they wait, breath bated and eyes glued on Poison. If they wake, Jet is determined that they won’t do so alone. He wishes Ghoul were here. Maybe seeing his datemate would be enough to jog his memory. 

But he’s not ready for that. At least not yet.

Poison sighs again, eyebrows furrowing as their mouth opens a bit. Jet holds his breath, waiting for them to open their eyes. He suddenly needs to see them. All at once he’s hit by the weight of them simply not being here, not being awake.

He misses them. They’re one of his best fucking friends and- and it’s been days since he’s even spoken to them. Since he’s saw them awake. 

Another long moment passes. But they don’t move again.

“Shit,” Kobra exclaims, his voice breaking.

He turns away and Jet pulls their eyes off of Poison long enough to catch him angrily wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

“Maybe they’re not ready,” he offers gently.

Kobra bows his head, his shoulders slumping as he stands and comes around the bed. Catching on, Jet opens his arms and lets him melt against him. Kobra’s breaths are shaky, a bit too fast and he can feel the dampness of his tears through the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

“Shhh. They’ll wake up soon.”

“When?” Kobra asks, voice soft and eerily similar to The Girls when she doesn’t understand why they’re telling her no.

“I dunno. Soon.”

Jet manages to convince him to go back to his room sometime later. It takes promising that he’ll come and get Kobra the moment Poison opens their eyes before he listens and trudges down the hallway. Sleep is what he needs, Jet could see the exhaustion in his eyes. 

Maybe he should sleep too. It’d be hypocritical of him not to. 

___________________________________

Eyes probably still red and nose stuffy, Kobra aimlessly walks down the hallway. There’s people bustling past him, offering brief apologies if they bump into him. He waves them off and keeps his head down.

The beanie he’s got on keeps them from recognizing him, not that he thinks anyone would be able to tell who he was without his jacket. It’s folded neatly and draped over the chair in his room that the Youngbloods gave him. He’s only put it on once since everything happened, just to gain some of that similarity, that familiar peace that’s he’s grown to associate with it. Jet hadn’t even been awake yet as he’d fought through the pain in his shoulder and chest to pull his arms through the holes. He hadn’t been able to zip it up but that hadn’t mattered. Just sitting there, out of breath and feeling like he’d been hit by a truck, had been enough. He’d smiled like an idiot. 

Because Poison gave him that jacket, it was a birthday present. They’d worked odd jobs for months to be able to pay for it, brushing off his concern of overworking themself by claiming they needed the money. Which, they did, but he still cried when they’d given it to him. Poison had insisted he try it on and even had him do a little fashion show-type thing with each of all three of his t-shirts underneath it.

Kobra passes Ghoul’s door. He’s asleep again right now, hopefully healing. The injuries he’d gotten were bad but Benz has assured them that he’s going to be fine. The only downside or hiccup really, is the memory issue.

And that of course leads Kobra to think about Benz.

He’s barely even met the others of the Youngbloods. Sandman is there sometimes, leaning against a wall or something and acting all tough. Despite not having said a single word to the guy, Kobra gets the feeling he’s a dick. The kinda guy who throws his weight around.

Benz is… well Kobra doesn’t really have anything bad to say about him. He’s gentle when he changes Kobra’s bandages, always slow and careful. And, aside from sternly telling him to leave his binder off until the blaster wounds healed, he’s not even mentioned it since. 

Like Kobra's fucking dumb enough to do something like that? 

And maybe Kobra should take all of that as a sign to trust them, seeing as they technically haven't done anything wrong or gone against his crew or anything- but there’s still a lot that isn’t adding up.

Like, how the hell they knew where to find Kobra and the others in the first place. 

Sure, they hadn’t been exactly covert in breaking into Better Living- Kobra’s pretty sure that the entire fucking desert knew what they were going to do- but he’s fairly certain that the City hadn’t been in on it. 

Poison had known it was a trap, a ploy to get the four of them into the City. So in some way BLI probably knew they were on their way. But they hadn’t known when or how, that’s the only reason they managed to get in at all.

So then how in the everloving hell did The Youngbloods know where The Four were? And more importantly, why did they care enough to go through all of this trouble?  
They don’t know each other. And fuck- strictly speaking the two sides of this rebellion have fought each other more often than not. Because Kobra can’t understand why people would be okay with living right under the City. He’s heard rumors that some of the people down here are still on the drugs. And that in itself is enough to make him check cautiously over his shoulder.

There’s nothing behind him but that same pale grey hallway that stretches on in front of him as well. A few people are further down, the ones he had to walk through, but he can’t help but stop in his tracks and spin around completely rather than just looking over his shoulder.

He squints at the group, trying to see if any of them give off any of the pills’ symptoms. It’s easy to spot, if you know what you're looking for. 

They’re almost too far away, nearly to the fork in the hallway and Kobra can barely make them out. There’s a tall person, dressed simply in pale colors. They have an old, leather backpack slung over their shoulder. It doesn’t look heavy but it could have anything in it. 

Next to the tall person is someone just a little bit shorter. They have long, blond hair that reaches the back of their knees as they walk. Kobra can’t really see much else about them but they seem to lean a little towards the taller person with each step.

Finally, there’s two people dressed in what Kobra’s learned are the guard uniforms. It took pretending to be asleep while Benz and Sandman spoke one day in his room to learn that there’s six guards per wing. Eight wings. That’s a lot of people and therefore a greater chance for a mole, but Sandman had also spoken to Benz about how he was having trouble picking a new guard after someone left. And even though Kobra’s not a hundred percent sure if he trusts Sandman, the thought that he hand picks the people watching over everyone eases his anxiety a bit.

His crew, his family are relying on the safety that The Youngbloods are promising.

“Standing in the middle of the hallway is a good way to get run over, kid.”

Kobra spins around, hand flying to his hip even though the blaster isn’t there. It’s in his room. Fuck.

But he’s not met with a mindless Drac or a stone-cold exterminator, instead it looks to be one of The Youngbloods.

The little insignia stitched onto the guy’s jacket is a dead giveaway. It’s some kind of bird, Kobra recognizes that much. But he doesn’t remember exactly which type of birds he learned in school. He was a little busy at the time trying- and unfortunately failing- to stay off the meds. But it’s an odd kinda bird, with huge wings that almost look like flames spreading around it. It’s beak is sharp, it’s eyes narrowed. 

Each of the Youngbloods have this bird on them somewhere. Sandman’s is a tattoo, right on his collarbone and Benz has his on a leather threaded bracelet he wears on his wrist. 

Kobra hasn’t met the other two members, only heard about them in passing, so he’s not sure who this person is. They’re tall, a little bit taller than Kobra, but they’ve got hair just about as curly as Jet’s. And they’re smiling at him, Kobra realizes a moment later. It doesn’t feel patronizing but he still fixes his face in a scowl and doesn’t say a word.

“Some people don’t look where they’re going and they’d run right over you.”  
Kobra narrows his eyes, not exactly sure why he automatically doesn’t like this person but he’s not about to just start talking to him like he knows him.

“ ‘s that a threat?” Koba asks lowly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Surprisingly, the person laughs. They throw their head back with it, eyes squeezing shut.

“What?” he spits, slowly getting more pissed off the longer this person laughs at him.

“Nothing. Nothing I just-”

The person sighs and wipes their eyes, sobering up and looking at Kobra a long moment.  
“Benz said you were testy, didn’t think he meant this bad. Look, kid-”  
“Don’t call me kid,” Kobra bites, still on edge from being fucking laughed at.

“Fine. Kobra, look we’re not out to get you down here.”

He wants to demand how he’s supposed to know that, especially when this person knows his name but he doesn’t know theirs. 

“Why?” he demands at last, keeping his voice sharp.

“Why what?”

“Why help us. Ya don’t even fuckin’ know us.”

“Stakes,” the person says suddenly, thrusting their arm out to Kobra.

He stares blankly at it a moment, forgetting to scowl through his confusion. 

“That’s my name,” they say again, wiggling their hand in front of him. 

“Uh… that’s nice?”

But he doesn’t reach over to shake their hand. He doesn’t know them so why the hell would he touch them?

“Wow. Okay,” Stakes shakes their head. “How do you do it in the desert then?”

“What?”

“How do you introduce yourself out there? Because I get the feeling I did that all wrong.”

Blinking slowly and trying to figure out if he’s being made fun of, Kobra sighs and uncrosses his arms. He shoves them instead into the pockets of his pants as he thinks.  
“Well ya don’t just walk up ‘t someone that’s for fucking sure,” he says at last, only a little bitter now.

Stakes makes it hard to stay pissy and Kobra isn’t exactly happy to realize that they’re growing on him.

“Why not?” Stakes asks genuinely, moving over to lean against the wall.

Kobra follows their lead and is honestly grateful for some of the relief. He’s exhausted but not so much so that he wants to bolt from this conversation. Which is weird. ‘Cause he hates talking to people he doesn’t know. Or just talking. Or people. 

“That’s a good way ‘t get fuckin’ shot for one,” he says but the bitterness is all but gone from his words.

“Would you have shot me?”

“Almost fucking did but I don’t have my gun.”

Stakes blinks slowly at that, eyes darting to Kobra’s hip like they know that’s where he keeps his gun.  
“Uh… we’ll I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Stakes waves their hand like they want him to continue. 

“So, basically ya don’t sneak up on people. And you don’t assume shit until you’re told otherwise.”

Kobra breathes out a moment and rubs a particularly tender spot on his shoulder. He probably should have listened to Jet and been in his room by now. But hey, he’s talking to someone and Jet’s always telling him he shouldn’t be such a hermit. So he’s counting it as progress.

“Assume things?” 

“Like,” Kobra pauses trying to find the right words. “Like gender or relationships. Names even. Don’t ask, wait for it to be given.”  
“Oh… well, I know you’re name already. And you’re a guy right?”  
“Right,” Kobra says quickly, nodding for Stakes to continue their train of thought.

“So, since I already know all of that about you, I gotta tell you about me then?”  
“I mean, you don’t got to. But it’s almost like a respect thing. Even playing field I guess.”

“Oh okay,” Stakes nods. “So, I’m High Stakes. But I don’t go by the first part because I was young and an idiot.”

Kobra fights to keep a smile from his face but waits on them to continue.  
“I’m in the Youngbloods, as you can probably tell.” They pull the part of their jacket with the bird stitched into it out for him to see. “Uh… I’m a guy and… I think that’s all? Right?”

“Yep.”

“So… we’re good now? You’re not going to shoot me if I say hi in the hallway now?”

Finally a grin breaks out on Kobra’s face and he doesn't try and hide it this time. Stakes visibly relaxes. 

“Just don’t sneak up on me ‘n we’re fine.”

“Noted. Goes for the others too?”

“Yep.”  
Kobra’s not sure how he managed to not hate the guy all of a sudden. He wants to, still isn’t sure that he a hundred percent trusts the Youngbloods, but- but he doesn’t get that same bad feeling from this guy. Sandman, yeah he doesn’t trust the guy as far as he can throw him, but Stakes…

Well, Kobra doesn't hate him. 

“You’re a little pale dude,” Stakes says, pulling Kobra from his thoughts.

“Yeah, was gonna nap ‘for I got distracted.”

“Would you punch me if I asked if you knew the way to your room?”

Smiling, because the guy is finally catching on, Kobra nods.

“Okay, well… uh it was nice meeting you.”

“Mhm. You too,” Kobra manages, feeling odd at the formality of it all.

Stakes doesn’t say anything else, just offers Kobra a genuine smile and heads off down the hallway behind him. Pushing himself off the wall, with an annoying amount of effort, Kobra resumes his walk back to his room.

When he finally pushes the door open to his room, he basically collapses onto the bed. It’s soft and someone’s changed the sheets. With his face pressed into the fabric he can smell the faint leftovers of whatever they used to clean it. It’s not quite fruity but nice all the same.

Worlds better than a sleeping bag in the corner of the diner that he normally has going for him. 

Kicking off his shoes and letting them fall over the side of the bed, Kobra carefully stretches his arms over his head. It pulls the sore skin around his chest and shoulder but not badly. He sighs and twists his head enough to rest it in his arms. 

As he drifts off into a much needed nap, Kobra can’t help but wonder. Are things ever gonna go back to normal? 

_______________________________________

Sitting quietly by Poison’s bed, Jet barely notices when they sigh. They’ve been doing that often, making some soft noise before shifting the slightest bit. Benz, when he came in earlier, said that it’s just them coming out of the sedative. That it doesn’t mean they’re waking up.

Even so, Jet feels his heart stop everytime they do so. 

This time though, he’s determined to not get his hopes up. That crushing feeling that comes every time he quickly looks over, only to find them very much still unconscious, its horrible. And he’s not gonna go through that again.

But he looks anyway. He can’t help it.

Poison’s not moving, their face still just as pale and expressionless as every other time he glanced over. Except… wait. Their forehead creases a bit and Jet doesn’t have time to even remember to breathe as their eyes flutter open.

They blink slowly for a long moment, like they’re trying to figure out where they are. The moment Jet’s able to get his body to work, he’s taking their hand in his. That gets Poison’s attention and they manage to move their head to the side enough to look at him.

“Poison?” he asks, voice full of disbelief and hope and-

They make something close to a groaning sound but it’s pained and their eyes scrunch up.

“Shh,” Jet whispers, bringing his free hand up to run his fingers through their hair.

Poison leans into his touch and the tension melts from their face. Their hand sneaks out of the blankets, shakilly going to their face and feeling around the plastic that’s covering their nose and mouth. Gently, Jet bats their hand away.

“It’s just to help you breathe. Leave it on.”

He watches them nod minutely and they let their hand fall to rest on their chest.

“Are you in pain?” he asks a moment later, concerned by the glossiness in their eyes.

They just barely shake their head but Jet can clearly see the pain that that act brings them. 

“Liar,” he says gently.

They roll their eyes at him and it’s honestly so normal and familiar that it takes Jet’s breath away. Poison is alive, they’re okay, and they're awake and they’re right fucking here. Sassing him without ever opening their mouth.

“Benz should be in soon. He’s got the good pain meds. Ghoul didn’t even real’ize he’d been hurt until after we weaned ‘im off.”

Instantly, Jet can see the question burning in Poison’s eyes. He’s not sure how much they remember but judging by the fear, the panic filling their soft hazel eyes, they remember enough.

“He’s fine. Shot up pretty bad but they got actual meds ‘n stuff here.”

The way Poison is looking at him though, Jet knows they can tell he’s not telling the whole truth.

“He doesn’t remember much… just our real names and other than that, nothing.”

Their eyes get wide and Jet already knows the question that they can’t ask.  
“No. He… he doesn’t remember you two being together.”

It hurts Jet to say but he just can’t lie to them. He can’t give them hope for something that isn’t there.

“But,” Jet says, quick to continue with something close to good news. “Kobes ‘s okay. He’s almost completely healed by now.”

The relief is visible in Poison’s eyes and Jet swears he hears them whisper a thank you to the Witch. But they look back at him quickly, asking without words if he’s alright.

“I’m fine. A little more sore than Kobra but nothin’ too bad. And Girly…” Jet has to pause in an attempt to get the lump out of his throat so he can speak. “She’s okay. Not a fuckin’ scratch. But she’s… she’s back home. With Doc I think.”  
Jet squeezes Poison’s hand again. It feels unreal that they’re awake, that they’re okay and- well maybe they’re not okay but they're fucking getting there and goddamn it, he’s gonna take what he can get. 

Even so, having to remember that they lost, that The Girl is about as far away from them as she can get… it hurts. Physically it hurts and Jet has no idea how it must feel for Poison. They’ve always been closer to her than the others. More like a parent than a sibling. 

“But… but- she’s okay?”

Their voice is shot to shit, raspy and weak and it sounds like they’re gargling fucking chainsaws as they try to speak. There’s tears gathering in their eyes and Jet’s not sure if it’s from pain or from the information. But it doesn’t matter.

“Yes,” he assures them. “ She’s fine. We got her out.”

The relief is once again visible but Jet can tell that Poison is tiring. Their eyes are barely open, their grip on his hand weakening as they slowly fall back asleep.  
“Rest Poison,” Jet says gently, running his fingers through their hair once again. “Next time you’re up I’ll make sure Kobes ‘s in here okay?”  
They don’t answer, probably haven't even heard him as their eyes are already closed again. Poison’s asleep just like that and Jet’s left alone with that ache in his chest. And it’s not the one from his injury, its somehow worse and more muted at the same time.

He misses The Girl. God… he misses her like nothing fucking else. She’s family and it feels wrong that she’s not here to comfort Poison as they wake up. It should be like every other time someone gets hurt.

They’ve all woken up after a bad clap to The Girl curled up next to them, keeping them company and making them forget about the pain in their blistered and torn skin. It’s not fair that the one time they need that the most, need to hold onto her and know that what they are doing is to protect her, she’s impossibly far away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written a few Danger Days fics in my time here on Archive. Each one of them are extremely different and are basically one big contradiction to one another. And that wasn't intentional, at least not at first. Now though, through writing these works, I've finally narrowed down what my personal head cannons are. Things like how they each met and who's dating who are concepts I've changed and tweaked a lot. And now I can say that this fic, how I'm writing these characters, is what I feel is the best representation of the universe as I see it. It's not perfect and who knows, somewhere down the line I may change my mind again. As of right now though, this fic is my 99.9% sure head cannons for the DD universe.  
I just wanted to address this because as much as i loved writing Lights You Make, some things needed tweaking in my eyes. I know I've contradicted my characterization of these people a lot but for now this is as close as I've ever gotten to getting it right in my mind.
> 
> (we're already staring the long ass author notes guys. It's only downhill from here haha)  
Also, Tags change a lot. I remember to add stuff at random times so before you read just do a quick glance over to be safe. Anything major, like if I decide to do something really graphic, will be at the beginning author's note under the bolded trigger warnings. But it will also be in the main tags as well. Nothing like that planned for now but I just wanna let you know just in case.  
So thank you all for reading and I will see you all again next Monday for the next chapter! If you'd like, comments and kudos are basically gold in my eyes and I appreciate them so much. I strive off of feedback, good and bad, so don't be afraid to say hi!


	4. Came Back With Flags on Coffins and Said "We won, oh we won"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "and in the end, we'll fall apart/ just like the leaves changing colors"  
~It's not a fashion statement it's a death wish by My Chemical Romance~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
* needles (very mild)  
* child neglect, if you squint  
*PTSD (I tagged this in the main tags but it Really begins this chapter so double warning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!  
No promises but there might be a double update this week. It's Thanksgiving break so I have loads of free time. But it just depends.  
As always, a huge thank you to @pauladiazcruz for beta-ing for me!! <3  
Also, I'm not a doctor and I defiantly have very little medical knowledge. I did do research for this So if anything is like Completely wrong or you spot a big error, please forgive me! Or tell me and I'll fix it as best I can!   
I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Chapter title is from 20 Dollar Nose Bleed by Fall Out Boy*

“Alright,” Benz says with a nod. “Give it a try.”

Slowly, Alex swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. His head sways briefly but soon it fades and he’s standing. Fucking finally.

Without the meds, he can feel the dull twinge in his right shoulder. In most,well- actually that whole side of his body is stiff and sore. It’s not exactly painful anymore, just annoying. He feels like his injury is nearly a month old rather than it only been a little over a week. 

He’d found himself staring at the fading, white splattered scars the other day. He had simply sat there, twisted so he could see all of the odd shapes of the scar tissue and places where Benz had essentially given him new skin, and stared. They're ugly. That was the only word that he could think of for it. There’s at least three holes where the beams actually hit him. Other than that, Benz wasn’t even able to tell Alex exactly how many times he was shot. But he doesn’t feel overly bad about them, the scars. They’re simply there and he’s strangely already at peace with it. Which, this feels like it should be a bigger deal. But it’s not.

Clearly though, this wasn’t the first time he’s been hit with a laser beam.

Because there’s scars absolutely covering him. His shoulder, back, stomach, leg… fucking everywhere. When he’d found a mirror in the drawer by his bed, Alex was honestly shocked to see the long, jagged scar that runs from the corner of his mouth up and almost to his ear. He should fucking remember getting that one, right?

Some of the scars actually look like the fresh laser wounds he has, similar shapes and patterns, but others look different. Almost like shrapnel and real flame rather searing laser beams. Especially on his arms and hands, like he’s shoved his hands in a blender or something.

Which is fucking weird but he’s not about to ask Miles about it.

Okay, fine, so he probably should ask him but it would only lead to that sad look on Miles’ face that he gets every time Alex asks about something that- apparently- he should already know. 

Maybe he could ask someone else? 

But he’s only spoken to Jet… or Mason as Alex knows him, maybe twice since he’s woken up. He’s always in the other room, with a person called Poison. Which, if you ask him, is a stupid fucking name.

Mason’s always nice to him though. He’s sad too, Alex can see it in his eyes just like Miles, but he hides it well. For the most part, Alex is able to ask questions without the weight of that sadness in his friend’s eyes drowning him. But not always. He tries to not be bitter about that though. Alex might not know them, but they know him and he’s sure this is hard on the others.

Still, the thought of getting out of this room is enough for Alex to consider talking to Mason anyway. The room’s nice, don’t get him wrong, but the four walls feel smaller everyday he’s trapped in here. It’s always the same grey walls and the same sad faces of the people he’s supposed to know. That and the Youngbloods. They’re cool -weird in a way that he can’t explain that isn’t bad but cool. 

He's going stir crazy though and he needs to do something. Anything.

“Can I go see Poison?” Alex asks, turning carefully to face Benz.

The doctor is in full gear today, white lab coat buttoned up with the sleeves rolled and showing off his bracelet. It’s got his crew’s bird-thingy on it and the doctor fiddles with it constantly. Like a tick or nervous habit. Now that Alex is thinking about it, all of Benz's crew seem to be wearing their symbol more openly, or at least showing it off more over the past few days. For some reason.

Also, there’s an obvious bump near Benz's hip where Alex somehow knows there’s a weapon tucked away. Which is extremely odd to him because the guy seems like the most pacifist person ever.

What would make him want to carry a gun around in the medical ward anyway?

Benz’s eyebrows raise at his question before he glances down to the small tablet in his hand. He swipes at something, eyes darting as he reads, and then looks back to Alex. His expression is unreadable, borderline pissed off. But Alex is slowly learning that there’s a lot more going on in his mind than he shows. 

“It’s a long trip. You’ve only just stood; are you sure?”

There’s the concern slipping through. Sure, Alex is sore but he genuinely feels fine. Long trip or not, he’s ready.  
“Yeah,” Alex says almost instantly, taking a step to prove his point. “Ma- uh… Jet’s in there right?”

“Yes.”

Alex nods, remembering that kind look Mason always has. He feels… not closer necessarily to him than Miles. But it’s… it’s a different relationship? Miles is his best friend, he knows that in his gut, but Mason is more of a safe feeling. He doesn’t know how to explain it but that’s something that he needs right now.

“I have to get out of this room dude,” he adds after Benz doesn’t say anything. “Please?”

Benz sighs and pushes his glasses further up on his nose. 

“Fine. I’ll take you.”  
___________________

Thirty minutes later, Benz knocks briefly and pushes the grey door open. Alex walks in behind him, trying his best to not breathe too heavily and give away how much walking here took out of him.

Isn’t this place supposed to have better medicine or some shit? Walking shouldn’t be hard if so, he thinks half seriously.  
Those thoughts are forgotten though, because the second the door opens there’s two sets of eyes on him. Mason sits hunched over in a chair by the bed. His hair is sticking up a bit and it takes Alex a moment to realize it’s because his hand is pushed through it. The curls pretty much hide everything except for his wrist down and Mason has his other hand held tightly by the person in the bed. 

They have bright fucking red hair. That’s the first thing that Alex is able to take in. It’s long and unruly, shaved underneath and on the sides but… but not unattractive. The person’s face is pale, soft and unfamiliar, with a thin, clear plastic tube running under their tiny nose.

“Ghoul?” Mason asks quietly, making Alex realize that he’s sorta been frozen in the doorway.

Awkwardly, Alex steps in and lets Benz close the door behind him. Weirdly enough, the doctor doesn’t leave. He goes over to the bed and starts messing with something on an odd looking machine as Alex tries to brush off the awkwardness.

“Um… that’s me?” Alex says, already cursing himself for how weird that sounds.

“Here, sit down.”  
Mason lets go of the person's hand -who Alex is assuming to be Poison- and stands, motioning for him to take his spot. Relaxing gratefully into the chair, Alex tries to look anywhere else than the person in the bed. Their eyes are on him, he can feel it. But he doesn’t want to meet their eyes.

He's not sure why.

“What’re you doin’ here Ghoul?”  
Alex turns towards Mason and watches the way he seems to hover around the red-head. It’s almost protective, though he’s not sure who’s protecting who. Mason looks almost scared and he can’t look at Alex more than a second or two before he’s watching Poison again. Almost like he’s waiting on something. But he also doesn’t sound accusing. It’s more concerned and curious, that safe feeling that Alex needed. 

Mason cares and he doesn’t hide it like Miles does. Ever since Alex admitted that he’s missing a few details- an understatement for sure- Miles has been closed off. He’ll talk to him and ask him if he’s alright but it's like there’s a wall, something between them that Alex has no idea how to fix. 

“Field trip. I needed to change Poison’s O2 tank anyway,” Benz supplies without looking up as he pushes a couple of buttons on the machine.

“I was bored.”

Mason nods at Alex’s addition and his eyes flick again towards the bed. Following him this time, Alex allows himself to hold Poison’s eyes.

They’re a soft hazel color, dim and tired at the moment but still… they're stupidly pretty and so full of emotion that Alex feels something in his stomach flutter. Poison watches him too, probably taking in every detail of his face like he is of them.

“I uh…”  
Alex feels like he should say something. 

They very obviously know him, were in a crew with him. He’d learned that from Mason. The four of them- him, Mason, Miles, and Poison- are in a crew and they fight against some massive, global evil megacorporation. Which is fucking nuts on it’s own but apparently they don’t just fight, they basically lead the rebellion.

So, clearly, he knows this Poison dude. But he doesn’t know them.

There’s none of that ghosting of a memory with them. Just a full on blank. 

Which is probably going to end badly for him.

“Hey Ghoulie.”

There’s a pause as Alex slowly is able to realize that the voice came from the bed, from Poison. Their words are rough, raspy and quiet, but their eyes are beginning to shine a little. Almost like they were waiting on him. The nickname feels familiar, in a confusing way. It brings a warm feeling, an ease that he can only just put his finger on.

“Um.. hi?” he tries with a genuine smile, one that grows when Poison returns it with their own tired pull of their lips.

Oh… There it is. It’s that same feeling as before, of wanting this person that he doesn’t really remember, to be happy. Now that he’s seen their smile, the shimmer in their eyes as he'd said hi, he knows them. Or well… Alex remembers wanting them to be happy, of wanting to do anything to get that smile.

He doesn't remember, remember them.  
Fucking hell this is confusing as fuck! Alex just wants to remember, just one person. That’s all he wants. To have one person that he doesn’t have to fucking excavate from the goddamn bottomless void in his mind. Is that too much to ask for?

“How… ‘re you… feelin’?”

Alex blinks, still a bit at shock each time they speak. He can see the most likely reason for why Poison sounds so broken, it’s hard to miss the clean, white bandages that encompass most of their neck and chin. But the rawness to their voice gets him anyway. 

“Good. I’m basically fine. Right Benz?”

The doctor sighs, rolling his eyes and stepping away from the machine by Poison’s bed. He wordlessly asks for permission and after a nod from the red-head, gently picks up their arm and does something with the little tube-thing that goes into their vein. They wince, eyes scrunching up as Benz puts a syringe in the little opening but other than that, Poison doesn’t fight back.

That pulls something in Alex’s mind. He can’t see anything but it’s like he’s remembering without the images, of a time when Poiosn would fight tooth and fucking nail to get away from any needle. Or maybe it was hospitals? Fuck. 

It’s too fuzzy for Alex to latch onto but he does know for sure that they should be fighting back on this. They don’t like medicine, that much he does remember. But that’s it. No fucking contex, just like always.

“Yes. You’re healing well. Not fine but better,” Benz says, pulling Alex back into the moment.

The little bit of grip that he had on that memory fades, leaving him feeling cold, empty. He’d been so close.

“Glad ‘t … See you up ‘n ‘round,” Poison whispers brokenly, their voice seemingly getting worse the longer they continue to speak.

“Yeah…”

Once again, Alex doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t this. 

He can see the hope pouring off of them, the way they keep moving their hand only to stop and bring it back to their side. Are they trying to touch him?

Or like- hold his hand?

Which is weird.

Mason tried to hold his hand the other day and it didn’t feel bad exactly, just made him uncomfortable enough to work up the courage to ask him to not. Which of course led to that same sad look that everyone seems to be giving him. Alex is already getting tired of seeing it, as cruel as he knows that is.  
It’s not his fault that he doesn’t know these people. Or, well he guesses that he does know them. But it’s broken, hard to really remember. He feels like he's sifting through layers and layers of sand in search of something he's only partially sure is there.

But Miles held his hand, that first day when he woke up. That was the last time he’d seen Miles be so open. It was also when he broke his heart or some shit by admitting his amnesia. He’s responsible for it but it still feels unfair for Miles to shut him out. It hurts, pulls at something in Alex’s chest just to think about it.

Out of nowhere, Poison starts coughing. It’s a deep, rough cough that sounds a lot like their voice. Alex leans forward, a part deep inside of him needing to do something to help but Mason beats him to it. 

He rushes over and helps Poison get propped up before grabbing some weird mask-thing from the table and securing it over their nose and mouth. Benz hovers as well, tapping on his tablet and messing with a different machine by the bed.

Slowly the coughing's intensity dwindles before finally stopping. Poison takes their first full, unhindered breath shakily before seemingly melting back against the pillows. They breathe slowly, purposefully for a while. The room sits in a heavy silence and Alex finds himself fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

Benz goes around checking this and that, mumbling to himself while Mason just watches on worriedly. Alex isn’t sure if he’s worried too, the feeling is too far buried in that little void in his mind. He’s concerned but… it’s all so muted.

It makes him feel horrible. Clearly someone he knows very well just had a scary as hell coughing fit and he’s just sitting here. He’s not numb but it’s not the same. Alex just feels like he should feel more.

“Okay,” Benz speaks up as he shoots a half-hearted glare to Poison. “That’s enough talking for today Poison. You’re going to end up damaging your voice more than it already is if you’re not careful.”

They roll their eyes and Mason huffs before moving over to sit at their feet opposite of Alex.

“Listen to ‘im,” Mason says gently, placing a gentle hand on their leg overtop the blankets “You’ve been out for like a week. After the shit we went through in th’ clap, rest is gonna get you outta this bed faster.”  
Mason’s tone is playful, teasing but something passes over Poison’s face as their eyes fall, breath hitching. Alex would swear that they go even more pale as fear- no, no it’s more than just fear… terror, terror and panic fill their eyes. They look haunted, gone for a moment.

But then it passes. In an instant they’re meeting Mason’s gaze and rolling their eyes again. 

If it wasn’t for the ice sitting heavy in Alex’s stomach, he’d almost think that he’d imagined it. 

____________________________________________________________________

Poison’s not sure what the hell that just was but… but they just can’t seem to shake the ice that feels like it’s piercing their chest. All Jet had said was for them to take it easy, a typical worry-er thing that he does literally all the time. But all Poison could see was Korse’s face. It was sudden, like the guy had just appeared out of nowhere right before their eyes. They couldn’t move, were completely frozen in place as he smiled grotesquely. It was almost like they could feel his gun under their chin again, like he was right here with them. Like they were back in the fight, like all of this was a blink and they’re really still in Headquarters, dying at the hands of the Exterminator.

Poison had blinked and the image, the feel of his gun, had vanished and they were left staring into Ghoul’s concerned expression.

Fuck. He must have noticed.

They’re still shaking and it’s been close to an hour now since whatever the hell just happened, happened. Jet headed off to his room a little while ago to nap, leaving Poison alone with Ghoul and Benz just outside.

Which, normally they wouldn’t have a problem with. Benz seems cool and Ghoul is their fucking boyfriend, obviously they don’t mind spending time with him.  
But he’s different. Jet had told Poison about his memory loss, that he’s got partial memories of them. He knows their real names but not that they’re rebels. They’d known that going into this but it still wasn’t enough to prepare them for the reality of it.  
Ghoul looks the same though. And maybe that’s the hardest part. That same long, dark hair tucked behind his ear like always. The fringe that he refuses to get rid of. His tattoos.

You’d think that since the tatoos were basically a fucking scrapbook of Ghoul’s life, that he’d be able to look at them and remember. Clearly not though. He’s just sitting there in the chair, not even his leg bouncing.

It’s beyond weird to see Ghoul so still, so quiet.

He doesn’t remember Poison, they can see it in the way he looks at them. And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else, worse than the blast that nearly killed them. They love him, have been in love with him long before they ever admitted it. 

He’d made the first move, surprisingly, bringing them a brand new pack of smokes as a peace offering in case they got mad when he’d asked them out on a date- just like they were school kids in the City or something. They still have three or four of those cigarettes left, hidden away in the AM’s glovebox. Saved for very special occasions.

“I’m sorry.” 

Poison flinches, Ghoul’s words startling them. Stinging pain shoots down their neck and they have to breathe slowly, deliberately while they wait for it to pass and for him to explain. They’re not sure they could speak right now anyway.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Ghoul continues quietly, guilt lacing his words. “I at least have to try though. I remember you, the three of you, as like a memory. I remember remembering.”

He raises his head, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and watching them carefully.

So… so if they’re understanding right, he still has the memories. But they’re just hard for him to access right now?

“So like,” Ghoul leans forward a bit and lowers his voice. “I know Kobra as Miles. That’s the name that pops in my head. And like I know Jet is Mason but I- I- just draw a blank when it comes to you… and I don’t know why.”

Those names… they crash against Poison’s mind like a wave. They haven't heard them in-in fucking years. They’re not those people anymore, those scared little kids.

They want to demand that Ghoul not even try to remember their name. Because if it were really him, if he really did have any memories of them at all, he would know that they hate their old self with a fucking passion. The only reason he even knows their real name was an accident. Too much adreniline and too much alcohol had led to them spilling their fucking guts one night. They don’t regret telling him, honestly Poison knows that he’d take what they told him to the grave but… but at the same time, this isn’t Ghoul.

He’s too quiet, too still, just- basically the fucking opposite of the guy that Poison knows.  
And it burns, like the kind that you get when you touch something that's way too cold. It’s like that but worse.

“But I’m going to try- to remember you I mean.” Ghoul finishes, oblivious to everything Poison is thinking. If they could breathe properly, could speak without risking coughing up a lung, they would tell him to not make promises he can't keep.

Benz won’t say it, none of the others will say it, but this might very well be permanent. Ghoul might never be Ghoul again.

“I’m sorry that I don’t remember… but I-” he sighs and rubs at his eyes a little.

Was he crying?  
Shit… 

Ghoul doesn’t- Poison has only seen him cry once and that is not an experience that they want to have again. But, strangely, somehow, it makes this feel more normal. Ghoul, trusting them enough to show this side of himself. Not hiding away.

His life before joining their crew was basically solitary, he didn’t talk to anyone, didn’t interact with anyone and it was hard in the beginning for him to learn to trust. To even admit that he had feelings other than hunger or the instinct to fight. But then Poison is reminded again of that day all those years ago when Ghoul had handed them that pack of cigarettes and asked if they’d like to go on a date with him. He’d been making progress up until that point, not picking fights with Kobra and trusting that Jet, who was still new to the crew as well, hadn’t messed with the can of food that he passed to him during meals. But asking them out had come out of nowhere. 

So...

So, maybe- maybe they’re wrong? 

Maybe Ghoul’s still in there…

They’ve just gotta find him again.

They force themself to take a deep breath, to look over at Ghoul. He sits up a little in his chair, blowing a sharp exhale as he begins talking again. Poison had admittedly forgotten that he was explaining things at all, too lost in their own worries and thoughts.

“I tried to explain it to Kobra but I don’t think- I don’t think I did it right.” Poison nods but lets him continue. “But, basically I- I remember you in the sense that I know that I don’t want you to be sad or hurt. I want you to be happy. And-and that feeling, it’s more like a pull. Like I’m driven to make sure you’re okay. I don’t have any memories to back it up but I… I don’t know how to explain it. I just know…”

Ghoul leans forward the rest of the way and rests his elbows on his knees. He buries his face in his hands, his shaky breaths audible in the quiet room around them. Blinking heavily to try and get the wetness forming in their eyes to go away, Poison drags themself up onto their elbows. The reach over the short distance between them and Ghoul and gently pull his hand away from his face. He looks at them with wide, confused, scared eyes, mouth open like he wants to say something but doesn't know what.

So, Poison tries for a smile. It feels fake, lopsided but somehow, it does the trick. Ghoul’s face lights up slowly and soon, he mirrors their smile back to them. 

“It’s not your fault,” they tell him earnestly, though their voice barely goes above a whisper.

They’re telling the truth though. Poison’s not sure how they could ever think that Ghoul wasn’t the same. They’ve known him since he was still a feral kid, surviving off of scraps and whatever he could steal. He hadn’t spoken much back then, just odd little humms if he was feeling particularly social.

Poison had managed to be his friend then, earn his trust and learn to trust him as well. They should never doubt that. Jet had told them that… what Ghoul had done in the fight. They don’t remember any of it, nothing beyond the harsh wall behind them and-

All Poison can see is the Exterminator, his eyes and- and-

They shut that down quickly, feeling the panic rising in them even though they know that they’re not even there anymore. Poison takes a deep breath and tries to focus back on Ghoul.

He’s got that worried look again, probably noticed where their mind had gone. Ghoul’s always been good at that, almost as good as Jet with telling when they’re lying or hiding something. Kobra on the other hand, that fucker would probably know before they even knew.

Before they can tell him to stop worrying over them, there’s a soft knock at the door. As Poison shifts to lay back down against the pillows, their exhaustion hitting them all at once now that they’re not distracted, Kobra walks in. 

Benz follows behind as the door falls shut behind them.

“Field trip’s over Ghoul. You should head back to your room now.”

Ghoul looks like he wants to argue and Poison swears that they see that glimmer of defiance in his eyes for a brief flash. But it passes and he nods. He smiles at them though, as he follows Benz out. They wave back lazilly, drained but determined to not fall back asleep yet.

Poison’s always asleep when Kobra’s been around. They know he comes in to give Jet a break every so often, the two of them alternating shifts between them and Ghoul, but Poison’s always been asleep when Kobra’s in their room. This is the first time they’ve seen him since they’ve woken up.

He looks the same, thankfully. There’s a dark colored beanie on his head though, which is weird ‘cause Kobra hasn’t worn a beanie since- like when they lived in the City. And Kobra looks tired but healthy. They can’t even see any burns or anything on him, not that they were expecting him to look bad or anything but- but he’s their baby brother. They worry, that’s their fucking job. 

Poison carefully rakes their eyes over him as he walks closer. His plain clothes are rumpled but clean and he’s got a paper plate in one hand, piled high with random bits of food. It looks like real food too, not the canned or powdered crap they normally get.

“Scooch,” he says, motioning with his free hand.

So Poison scoots over, wincing at the pull on their stiff muscles as they do so. It’s dumb, they barely moved a freaking foot but they’re exhausted as they sink back against the pillows. Kobra climbs into the bed, settling beside them just like always. He rests the plate on his lap and brings an arm around their shoulders to bring them closer. Resting their head against his shoulder, Poison finally lets their eyes slip shut as he eats.

They’re not hungry and are thankful that he doesn’t try and offer them any of his food. Just the thought of food makes their stomach turn.

“Missed you,” Kobra says at last as he moves a stray hair from their eyes. 

They smile gratefully but make no move to open their eyes again. They’re truly exhausted, aren’t even sure how they’re still awake right now. Kobra’s warm, comfortable, and familiar and they can feel themself slipping under.

But, this close Poison can feel the dressings that cover the wound under his shirt. He’s hurt.

He’s hurt.

Kobra was hurt and when he needed them, they were unconscious. Hell, it’s their fucking fault in the first place that he was shot at all. If they’d been faster, if they hadn’t frozen and given Korse the upper hand… maybe if they’d done more then no one else would have gotten hurt. They should have minimized the damage to only themself.

“I’m sorry,” Poison whispers, their voice breaking annoyingly though they’re not even sure if it’s audible over the stupid mask on their face.

He should be mad at them, furious even. Because this was their fault. Poison led the others into that building, knowing full well that the chances of them making it out were fucking tiny. But they did it anyway and look where that got them.  
Ghoul doesn’t even fucking remember them, Jet’s hurt, The Girl is impossibly far away and- and Kobra- their baby fucking brother- was shot and-

“Stop that.”  
Slowly Poison pries their eyes open but they don’t lift their head off of Kobra’s shoulder to meet his eyes. They don’t want to see that look on his face, the forgiveness that they don’t deserve. 

“Party look at me,” he says again and just by the use of their first name they know they're not going to be able to deny him.

Shifting, Poison glances cautiously up at Kobra. His brows are knit in a hard line and he’s got both anger and sadness in his eyes. They feel responsible for that too.

“What in the ever-loving hell do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I… everything.”

The anger in his expression burns through the lingering sadness as he becomes the one to look away first. Following his lead, Poison fixes their gaze on the soft bed sheets covering them. Kobra’s arm around them tightens and he pulls them closer to his chest. 

“It’s not your fault asshole,” he tells them, though his voice is unbelievably gentle, fragile almost. “I- if anythin’ I should be th’ one apologizing. If I’d gotten to you faster, shot Korse sooner…” he trails off and Poison can feel him shaking his head as if to get rid of that train of thought. “Point is, we can’t go blamin’ ourselves or each other. It was no one’s fault but Korse’s.”

“It’s not that easy,” Poison admits softly.

Saying things like that versus actually believing them are two completely different things. 

“I know. But try? For me?”

Poison breathes shakily but nods their head anyway. They can try, if only for Kobra. He deserves that much after all.

_____________________________________________________

Sandman grabs Benz’s arm, pulling him harshly across the hall and through the door that leads to the stairwell. Instantly Benz’s tenses and goes for his gun, but once he notices that it’s him, Sandman just gets an exasperated eye roll.

“What the hell?”

“I need to talk to you,” Sandman says quickly, looking behind them cautiously because he’s afraid that someone might hear them.  
Benz narrows his eyes and gives him a long once over, probably trying to decide if this is a prank or something. Which is ridiculous because Sandman would never joke about something so serious. At least not twice anyway.

“Someone is supposed to be by their doors, you said that yourself” Benz points out slowly as he pulls his arm out of Sandman’s hold.

“That’s kinda the topic. Look, there’s a guard shift about two turns down this hallway. Poison’s room will only be unguarded for literally three minutes at the most. That’s all I need.”

For a long moment, Benz just stares at him critically. But then he sighs and motions for Sandman to continue.  
“Thank you,” he begins, earning a soft nod from his friend. “It’s about that- the team that didn’t come back last night. The one going in to the City,” Sandman explains, though he tenses as a door closes loudly down towards the bottom of the stairs. 

They’re out of view of the bottom three landings but he still holds his breath until the echoing footsteps fade and another door closes. His hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by Benz, typical.

“What about them?” he demands quickly, eyes darting to the door behind them.

Sandman doesn’t like leaving the room unguarded any more than Benz does but he can’t risk anyone over hearing this. He can only trust his crew and right now, Benz is the only person in base that he can talk to. 

“They still didn’t come back, but-” he’s interrupted by Benz’s muttered curse and it’s Sandman’s turn to sigh. “I know. Normally, we’d send Stakes and Phantom out for retrieval by now but… but we know there’s no point.”  
“What do you mean?” Benz asks carefully, hands crossing over his chest instinctively.

“Government got them. They fucked with their radios and we’re lucky ‘cause Stakes made ‘em and they can’t be tracked but… but they were able to leave a message.”  
He curses under his breath again and wipes his hand under his glasses while Sandman tries his best to forget the chilling sound of whichever Better Living official’s voice as they bragged about capturing people who are- were their friends.

“Yeah… it was Buggy and his crew,” Sandman tells him, because he knows better than to lie. Than to keep this from him. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

“We’re upping security even more and once Stakes and Phantom get back we’re on lockdown. I’m not risking anyone else, especially not with who our guests are.”  
“But,” Benz interjects, “it was just one crew. Sandman, I know that we were close to them and it hurts that they’ve been taken but… but accidents like this happen. It’s part of the job. Why broadcast to everyone that we’re scared when it’s just one mess up. We’ve lost a crew before and this won’t be the last time that we do. Besides, people are already suspicious. I know that Fun Ghoul has noticed my gun, I saw him staring at it earlier.”

Sandman takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the way the shitty lighting catches in Benz’s blond hair, how it makes the puffiness of it look like a halo around his head. How he can hear the footsteps of the guards passing by just on the other side of the door. If he focuses on these things, things he knows and are familiar, he won’t be pulled under by everything else.

“It’s not just Buggy’s crew,” he manages. “The other crews, they've reported that Dracs were out like fucking crazy. There were Exterminators in the Zones and- and apparently the whole desert is basically going feral. The City is broadcasting the Four’s death across every radiowave, every news channel. With them gone, the City thinks it’s winning. They’re cracking down on everyone. It’s not safe for us to send people out, not rright now.”

“So what, we just wait until it all dies down?”

“No, no, I just want to catch our breath. Make sure that the Four get back on their feet and that we don’t lose any more of our own. We wait until we’re ready.”

“And what are we supposed to do for supplies?” Benz asks, though it’s not demanding. 

Sandman knows that he’s just trying to make sure he’s thought this through but honestly, it’s all he’s been able to think about. He knew those people, they were friends. And now they’re gone, lost to the City. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Logically though, the leader in him knows also that losing people to the enemy means a greater chance of information getting spilt. Maybe not intentionally but everyone has a breaking point. And the City is excellent at finding people’s edge and pushing them over it. He can’t risk what they have here by continuing to let people go on runs.

“We have enough to get us through about a week if we don’t begin rationing right away. Two if we’re strict with it. But that’s more than enough time to form a plan, get more information on the increased activity and shift our methods around it.”

“That was actually… pretty smart.”

“Fuck you,” Sandman tells him, only a tiny bit hurt that he’d think he would jump into something like this without thought.

“No, no I mean, yeah. You’re right. Have you given the order yet?”  
“I wanted to wait to see what you thought.”

Benz nods, his gaze far away as he fiddles with the bracelet around his wrist. 

“I’m in. It’s gonna be hard to keep everyone from leaving though.”

“That’s why I wanna wait until all four of us are in base before I give that order. First, I think I’m just gonna call everyone in.”

“There’s teams out?”

“Yeah, plus two in the Zones. One’s long term, Static Fiz and their crew. That’s if I can get a hold of them. And the other is one of the ones we sent out last night.”

“Okay,” Benz says with a nod. “Obviously I’ll back you if anyone starts getting pissy because they’ve gotta come back.”

“Thank you.”

Sandman reaches around Benz for the door handle, antsy from having Poison’s door unguarded for longer than he wanted. With the City upping their security, they may very well have gone through the rouble and found that the Four were not there when the building blew. They’re all still a ways off from being combat ready, and with the added chance of someone here finding them, Sandman wants to make sure they’re not discovered by either side any time soon.

“What do we tell them?”

“Who, the crews? The truth. The City’s flipping it’s shit and we’re bringing everyone in to reevaluate how we do things.”

“No, I mean the Four. They’re gonna ask questions and more people in base means more chances of them being spotted.”  
“I… I don’t know.”  
“You’re not going to lie to them are you?” Benz asks lowly, glaring at him through his glasses.

“I- no. Yes. I- I don’t know.”  
“It’s your decision, obviously, but I really don’t see how lying will help any of us.”

Sandman doesn’t answer, he just reaches for the handle again and steps around Benz into the hallway. He can see the two guards at the end of the hallway, no other people seem to be on this side of the wing. Thank god. 

“I’ll watch this room, it was my shift anyway. I’m assuming you have people posted at both Jet and Ghoul’s room too? I just dropped Ghoul off and Jet left for his a little while ago.”

“No. But I’ll do that as soon as I can. I was trying to give them some freedom but I don’t think that’s gonna be an option anymore. At least not completely.”  
“It’s for the best. We’ve got,” Benz looks down at his tablet. “Four hours until Phantom and Stakes return. We can manage until then.”

______________________________________________________

Kobra knows that he’s acting suspicious but Poison’s asleep right now so he can’t exactly ask them if he’s being overly paranoid.

But he’d heard a weird sound outside the door and hadn’t been able to resist going to investigate. The two guards had hardly noticed him as he poked his head out and Kobra can just barely hear muffled talking coming from the door across the hallway. The little sign on the wall beside it says that it leads to the stairwell and Kobra doesn’t know any good reason for someone to be having a conversation in there rather than literally anywhere else. 

He can’t make out exactly what they’re saying but he does manage to peak enough into the small, barred glass window in the door to recognize the back of Benzedrine’s head. What makes it all the more strange though, is that it was Sandman’s voice joining in with the doctor’s. They speak quickly, quietly but Kobra is able to pick up something about the City. And that’s honestly enough.  
Instantly on high alert, Kobra strains to hear anything else. He hears Benz ask something about lying to someone and there’s a muffled response followed by a sharp yes. 

Before he can decipher anything else though, the other door handle moves and Kobra has to rush to slide back in the room and close the door. The second Poison’s door closes, he hears the other door open. All of a sudden, the conversation is loud enough for him to actually hear.

“I’ll watch this room, it was my shift anyway. I’m assuming you have people posted at both Jet and Ghoul’s room too? I just dropped Ghoul off and Jet left a little while ago,” he hears Benz’s slightly muffled voice say.

“No. But I’ll do that as soon as I can. I was trying to give them some freedom but I don’t think that’s gonna be an option anymore. At least not completely.”  
Kobra has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from flinging the door open and demanding why Sandman seems to think that he has absolutely any say in what he or his crew does. Talking about their freedom like it’s just fucking something that he can take away, it makes Kobra want to punch his teeth in. He doesn’t even hear the rest of the conversation, the blood rushing behind his ears too loud for him to focus on anything else.  
Because Kobra was right. They’re prisoners. 

“Kobes?”

Jerking his head in the direction the voice came from, Kobra finds Poison’s stare fixed firmly on him. They’re still half asleep but they’re already mostly sitting up, concern washing over their face.

Pushing it all down to deal with later- hopefully with Jet because he’s probably the only one who’s in good enough shape to help Kobra figure this shit out- Kobra shakes his head and walks back over to the bed. Poison relaxes only slightly, their hazel eyes boring into him.

“Somethin’s wrong,” they insist, finally looking over to the door where he’d been standing.

“Nothing is wrong. I just couldn’t sleep.”

They look at him for a long time and he knows they’ve seen right through him.

“You can’t lie,” Poison says, in that annoying older sibling tone that they use so fucking well. “I know you asshole.”

Hearing their voice sound so weak, even though he knows they’re getting better, it makes Kobra want to deny them anyway. He wants to tell them that everything is fine and tuck them back in, make sure they rest so they can finally stop looking like they’ve just fucking died.

“Kobes, c’mon.”

They’d kill him for even thinking this but he knows that they’re not as okay as they’re acting. It’d been very clear when he’d walked in that Ghoul had not remembered Poison any more than he’d remembered Kobra or Jet. And that pisses Kobra off. The first time his sibling had allowed themself to fall for someone, to actually be in a relationship with someone, and of course Ghoul would fucking loose his memory and not remember them. 

But what confuses Kobra the most though, is why Poison didn’t tell Ghoul the truth. Why would they hide the fact that the two of them had been together for fucking years? It just doesn’t make sense.

Maybe that’s why he knows that he can’t lie to them. They’re vulnerable right now, way more than they’re ever going to show or admit to. He can never keep things from Poison anyway, never really wants to.

“Fine,” he relents, sighing and sitting down heavily on the empty space of their bed. “I’ve only told Jet about this so far, ‘cause you ‘n Ghoul were still outta it when I first got this gut sort ‘a feeling.”  
“It’s one ‘a those?” 

“Yeah. I can just feel that something isn’t right. So, basically-”  
Kobra tells them everything. And surprisingly, Poison shares his suspicions. 

“But,” they tell him quietly, curled up against him and clearly well on their way to falling asleep despite the seriousness of their conversation. “We need... evidence first. Can’t jus’ blame ‘em ‘n not get th’ full story."

Kobra hums his agreement and shifts so that the circulation in his arm isn't getting cut off by Poison's weight. He’s missed them, a lot more than he’d ever admit. They need each other, maybe more than is healthy. But he’s always his best, strongest and most himself, when Poison is with him. They make him stronger, make all of the shit that the world keeps throwing at him a little easier to bare. He doesn’t know what he’d do without them. 

Kobra finds himself remembering the exact moment that Poison fell. He can still feel the way his stomach dropped and his thoughts turned to complete rage and fear and hopelessness. He’d tried to get to them, with everything he had, and it hadn’t been enough. Kobra wasn’t able to keep them safe.

When he’d first woken up… he’d thought he’d failed completely. He’d been so certain that they were dead- how can anyone survive getting shot like that? But they did. They survived.

Kobra had only had to live in a world without them- or where he thought he’d lost them- for a few minutes at most. But it felt like it was an eternity. Nothing else had mattered and Kobra is honestly ashamed right now to admit he was two seconds away from sinking back into old habits. But just hearing that they were alive, still fighting to hang on at that time but alive, was enough to give Kobra the strength to hold on as well.

So yeah, maybe he’s too dependent on them. But he knows that they are the same way. It’s the reason they’ve survived as long as they have and Kobra would honestly never trade what he has for anything.

" 'missed you Kobes."

Kobra sighs contently and rests his head against his siblings, careful of all the little tubes and wires they're connected to. He'd meant to ask Benzedrine about how much longer they'd have to be on all this shit but it 'd slipped his mind.

He can tell the moment Poison falls asleep and they relax completely. He's almost there too, world flowing into that hazy blur right before sleep takes you.

And then the shouting begins right outside the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and tell me what you think? All feedback is very much appreciated!!


	5. Have you heard the news that you're dead?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is the road to ruin/ and we're starting at the end."  
~Alone together by Fall Out Boy~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!  
This one is super long but it's far from boring- at least I hope so!  
A very huge thank you to @pauladiazcruz for being my beta for this fic! I wouldn't be able to do this without her!!  
Also, I'm still learning how to do the italics for Archive-I'm late catching on I know haha- so if there's an obvious error for that, please forgive me!!
> 
> Also, also UPDATES are moving to every other Friday now! I've started another fic, because apparently I am insane. And so, the next update for this fic will be December 13! Sorry for the super long wait after this chapter but I hope you all don't mind too much!
> 
> *Chapter title is from Dead! By My Chem. I changed it cause honestly this fits better*

Groaning quietly, Jet drags himself back up into a sitting position against the wall. He lets his head thunk softly against it as he runs a hand down his face. The bed he's sitting on is soft, warm from the few hours he’s spent wrapped up in the blankets, trying in vain to drift off to sleep.

But sleep won’t come.

Even though he’s tired, basically exhausted at this point, his mind is just going too _fast_ to allow him to do anything other than lay here in the dark and think. And he’s tired of just laying around. If he’s not sleeping, there’s no real point to staying in bed.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Sure, the logical side of him knows that he’s still healing and rest means he’ll get better faster. But he’s never been one to just laze around

Especially not now. Not when he has so much running through his mind. So many people for him to worry about.

He’s worried for his friends, his crew. But on top of all of that mess, sits his almost _burning_ worry for Kobra especially.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

The Kid’s never been good in new places, surrounded by new people. And, while Jet still isn’t a hundred percent sure if he’s on board with Kobra’s suspicions about the Youngbloods, he can’t just write off everything Kobra has pointed out. Getting some actual information out of the Youngbloods would be fucking _lovely_ but, at the same time, just because they’re not spilling everything _doesn’t_ mean they’re guilty. If situations were reversed, Jet is almost certain he'd be the same way, wary to give away too much information to almost perfect strangers. ____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Even so, he can’t just dismiss Kobra like that. Even if he _does_ end up wrong about this in the end. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Jet sighs and reaches over to turn on the lamp beside his bed, unable to stand the darkness surrounding him any longer now that he knows he’s not gonna be able to actually get any sleep. The bulb doesn’t even flicker as he turns it on, only further telling of the quality of electricity that this place has. 

The Underground isn’t exactly high tech. There’s not state of the art fingerprint scanners on the doors, like there are in most of the City, and there’s not a TV in the rooms or anything. But there’s plenty of space and reliable enough electricity for them to have _real_ food _and_ medical equipment. The doors, at least the ones Jet has seen in the med wing, are plain but sturdy and despite the visible age of this place, it feels secure.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Which is absurd to think about because they’re _underneath_ the fucking City. Jet should not feel safe.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Glancing over, Jet’s eyes fall on his jacket. It’s draped over the back of a chair, untouched since Benz took him out of it. There’s a single singe along the arm where a blast got too close, a potential injury he doesn’t even remember narrowly avoiding. But the beam that took him down managed to miss his jacket all together. It tore the fuck out of his shirt- and skin obviously- but his jacket is unscathed.

Growing up in the desert, Jet learned to keep his jacket close. It might just be a colorful form of self expression for ‘joy just escaping the City but any desert born knows that your jacket will save your life a hundred times over before you’re finally ghosted in the end. Warmth at night is the main way. An extra layer in a firefight is another. Not looking like the enemy is also a good one. 

Jet moves on autopilot, standing from the bed and going over to the chair. The worn leather is smooth under his fingertips and he takes a moment to simply feel. The patches are rough and raised, the flag stitched on bringing up memories of working for hours to get it just right.

Gently, carefully, Jet lifts it and slides his arms through the holes. It fits just right, just like always. He’s warm almost instantly, never really registering the chill that he was feeling until it was gone. Even though he doesn’t zip it up, even though the jacket probably looks stupid over top of his city clothes, Jet can’t help but feel like a puzzle piece of himself has slid back into place. 

Not for the first time, he wonders how anyone ever managed to live in the City. How they managed to survive without color and warmth, the kind that comes from your jacket. Or your mask. The kind that keeps you _alive_.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And he thinks about Kobra. Jet knows that being so close to the City can’t be easy on him but they haven't exactly had time to talk about that, there's been way too many other things for them to worry about. But Jet knows that being so close to the place that was almost Kobra’s downfall… the place that he risked everything on in a last ditch effort to get himself and Poison out of it- it _can’t_ be easy on him.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And _Poison_… fuck, Jet _saw_ that look on their face when they were talking to Ghoul. They may be hiding it well, might be fooling the others into thinking that they’re fine, but Jet knows for an absolute fact that there’s something wrong. ____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

And so he _knows_ that his crew is far from okay, that they’re all struggling together and by themselves, but he just… he just doesn’t know what to do. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

How is he supposed to help them?

There’s a shuffling sound just outside of his door and instantly Jet is on high alert, his thoughts slipping away and his instincts taking over. He steps away from the chair soundlessly, already reaching for his gun from the nearby bedside table. 

There shouldn't be anyone outside of his door right now.

Not after Sandman relieved the guards he had assigned to them. 

His crew is getting better and so there’s less of a need for round the clock guarding. However, that doesn’t exactly leave a lot of people who could be outside his door right now.

Poison is still too weak to fucking _stand_ and Kobra’s probably attached to them at the hip at the moment since they haven’t gotten to see each other since the clap. And Ghoul’s never even _been_ to Jet’s room before and last time he checked, he was still in his room anyway.  
So. Again. No one should be outside his door right now.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Jet doesn’t flip the safety on his blaster just yet but he does aim it at the center of the door. The weight of the weapon in his hand is familiar, nothing more than an extension of his hand. He breathes slowly out as he inches closer to the door. Years of practice make his footsteps silent and he pauses with his hand over the handle to listen.  
There’s no sound outside, just the soft huff of his own breathing. 

In one motion he twists the knob and yanks the door open. His blaster raises, thumb flipping the safety automatically as he comes face to face with a startled looking… _kid_?__

_ __ _

_ __ _

They’re _young_, the soft face giving them away, but they're also dressed in the uniform he’s come to learn as the Youngblood’s assigned guards. With Jet’s blaster almost literally in their face, the guard’s eyes are comically wide and they have one hand halfway to the weapon on their hip. Jet doesn’t back down.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Who are you,” he demands slowly, watching the hand that’s reaching towards their gun.

The kid finally closes their mouth and makes a show of lowering their arms. Smart.

“I was sent to guard your room.”  
“By who?”

They give him an incredulous look, as if the answer was obvious. And maybe it is but Jet just has a bad feeling about this.  
Sandman had told them the weren’t going to be guarded anymore. Why would he just change that without telling anyone?

Something has to be up.  
“Mr. Sandman sent me,” the kid says, entirely too cheery even though they’re saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I was told to guard your room and keep you safe.”

Jet narrows his eyes. This kid can’t be any older than Ghoul and is _definitely_ too young to be guarding much of anything. At least by the City’s standards. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

He takes just a moment to get a better look at them. They have short cut hair that’s so red that it’s almost orange- yet still somehow looks like it might actually be their natural color- and they’re slim but tall. Almost the same height as Jet. The uniform they’re wearing fits them well- plain but crisp looking cloth pants that are a dark navy blue, with a matching jacket as well as what is probably a standard issue white raygun strapped to a belt on their hip.

“What’s yer name kid?” Jet finds himself asking.

He lowers his gun but doesn’t put it away. Something still feels off.

The kid may look friendly but that doesn’t explain why they’re here, apparently guarding his room.

“James,” the guard supplies with a chuckle. “I know I look like I’m 12 but I’ve been on Sandman’s guard for over 4 years. I know my shit.”

Jet wouldn’t say _12_ but yeah, James does look young. And it’s odd, but they don’t sound like they’re bragging right now, more as if they’re trying to be reassuring than anything else.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Guards were called off, Sandman said it ‘imself,” Jet presses as he tries to figure out whether the kid’s telling the truth or not. “So, why’re you here?”

“Called us back on. Just now actually. He has Doctor Benzedrine guarding the one still on bedrest and he’s with the short one right now. I’m assigned to you and the Captain is on the tall one’s room once he goes back.”

Assuming the Captain is like- the leader of the guards, it seems like Sandman only has those he trusts guarding the Four right now. Which is relieving, Jet can’t deny that.  
“Okay,” Jet admits slowly, “Okay… but _why_?”  
“Don’t know. Just following orders dude.”__

_ __ _

__

James shifts back and forth on his feet, like this conversation is boring or he’s ready for it to be over. He doesn’t reach for his gun again but he does give Jet a long once over. His face remains blank, unreadable but Jet begins to worry that he’s figured out who he is.

“Do I know you?”  
Fuck. 

He doesn’t have the stupid hat on right now and his hair is probably his most recognizable feature. Other than maybe his darker skin tone and eye patch. Oh, right. And his fucking jacket.

“Yeah,” James says again, something like recognition coloring his words. “Yeah you’re one of the desert rebels aren’t you?”  
Jet needs to shut this down. _Fast_. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Neutral town. So no, not a rebel.”

He’s not as good at lying as Poison but he prays that he’s convincing enough. James simply frowns and Jet knows that he’s staring at the small patch of leather covering his ruined eye. Neutrals aren’t normally scarred and weather worn. At least not like the actual rebels are. Like he is. Because neutral towns have decent supplies and are, for the most part, safe. The City ignores them and the rebels rarely find themselves there for any amount of time. He’d stick out like a sore thumb in one. And James probably knows that.

“I thought those places were supposed to be safe?” the guard questions uncertainly.  
“Look, kid I-”

A loud crash sounds from somewhere down the hallway to his left and Jet’s sentence gets stuck in his throat as he jerks his head in the direction it came from. He can’t see anything there but he was half expecting to see Dracs and Exterminators bursting down the halls. The safety is off of his gun again before he even thinks it. Jet pushes past James wordlessly.

“Hey, hey dude! You’re not supposed to leave your room.”  
That makes Jet spin back around.

“What?”

James’s eyes go wide as he realizes what he’s said as Jet hears Kobra’s words ringing in his ear.

_Why do we trust them?___

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Uh I-”

A shout erupts down the hallway, seeming coming from around the corner at the end of this stretch of hall. Jet shakes his head. He doesn’t have time for this.

Poison’s room is down the way that the commotion is coming from and he will be damned if he lets anything happen to them. Not _again_.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

So Jet takes off running, leaving a very confused James in his wake. But he doesn’t look back. He just runs, soft shoes slipping on the slick floors as he basically slides around the turn. The gun in Jet’s hand feels heavy now, loaded with the fear that he’s too late and Poison’s hurt. 

It sits like fire in his gut, just the thought of them being injured again. Would they even survive another blast so soon?

Jet tries to push his fears back and forces himself to only focus only focus on what’s in front of him as he races down the narrow hall. He quickly spots someone standing by Poison’s door, their back to him. As he slows his pace down, Jet’s able to tell that whoever this is, they’re standing wide, arms out like they’re aiming somewhere in front of them.

It’s _Benzedrine_, Jet realizes with a start. Someone rushes past the doctor, they look like one of the people who live here and it’s likely they’re the one who shouted. But they’re _young_ and they look terrified as they sprint past Jet. ____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Do they have actual _kids_ here?__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Benz stands his ground and even though he can only see his back, Jet gets the feeling that he’s more of a fighter than he’d originally thought. His stance is practiced, strong.  
“Stand down,” Benz demands in a low voice that somehow manages to carry through the empty hall.

Someone laughs and Benz shifts enough for Jet to get a glance over his shoulder. What he sees makes him stop completely in his tracks. He’d been getting steadily closer but one look at the rubber Draculoid mask is enough to turn his legs into lead.

Jet feels like the breath has been knocked out of him, his chest too tight and mind going far too fast for him to process this.

The only thing running through his mind is _not again_.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“I said, _stand down_.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

The Drac makes a gurgling sound, something between a laugh and a sound of pain. Impossible to tell the difference. Jet hears Benz curse very quietly under his breath.

Slowly a thought manages to form through Jet’s blind panic. If there’s a Drac _here_, right by Poison’s door… there’s no way that’s coincidental. They’re here for them. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

All of them.

The doctor shakes his head, oblivious to Jet, and pulls the safety on his gun. Wait-

Why the _hell_ didn’t he have it on in the first place! __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Jet can just barely see how his arm shakes, how he hesitates even as the Drac takes a step closer. Without thinking, Jet raises his gun again. In a split second where his survival instinct outweighs his panic, he aims just beyond Benz’s shoulder and pulls the trigger.

The Drac falls instantly as Benz spins around. Impossibly fast, Jet finds himself staring down the barrel of the doctor’s gun. Benzedrine’s face is pulled tight, hands visibly shaking even as he seems to slowly begin processing that Jet isn’t a threat.

Trying to diffuse the situation, Jet clicks the safety off on his gun and raises his hands. Benz eyes go wide as he realizes what’s happened. But before he can lower his gun as well, the door to Poison’s room all but flies open.

Jet watches helplessly as Kobra rushes out, only to stop dead in place as he takes in the scene in front of him.

The Drac is still smoking, lying there motionless on the floor as Benz, likely in pure shock, keeps his gun trained on Jet. He’s not really aiming it anymore but from the look in Kobra’s eyes, Jet knows exactly what this looks like.

“Benz,” Jet reasons carefully, keeping his eyes on Kobra the whole time. “Lower your gun. The Drac’s dead.”

Slowly, as if he’s struggling to make his body listen, Benz lets his arm relax. Just as his arm drops and the gun falls from his hand, clattering to the floor, Sandman comes racing around the corner the Drac must have come down.

Sandman barely even glances as he steps over the Drac and reaches out to put his hand on Benz’s shoulder. The doctor jumps like he’s been shot the second Sandman touches him. Cursing, Sandman carefully spins him around and, almost like his strings have been cut, Benz knees buckle and he drops.

Jet doesn’t have time to process that, not when he’s literally being tackled by Kobra. The impact nearly takes him to the ground but he manages to steady himself as Kobra clings to him. His arms wrap around Jet’s waist and the Kid’s face is immediately pressed into his chest.

“Hey, hey I’m okay,” he assures him in a whisper, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and wincing in sympathy when he feels how badly Kobra’s shaking. “It’s okay.”

Kobra’s grip on him is iron tight, despite the shaking, and it pulls at Jet’s heart to see him so visibly terrified like this.  
“No it’s fucking _not_,” Kobra practically growls. “He pointed his fuckin’ _gun_ at you Jet and-”____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Suddenly Kobra is yanking himself out of Jet’s arms and whirling around. “Why the fuck were you pointin’ your gun at him!”

Benz in a heap on the floor, leaning against Sandman’s shoulder, their hands wrapped together. He flinches at Kobra’s harsh tone and Jet finally notices how much the doctor is shaking. Still shaking.

“There was a Drac you dumbass. He saved your friend’s life!” Sandman snaps, his eyes hard as he wraps an arm protectively around Benz.

“By pointing a gun at him?! How do I know that the Drac wasn’t trying to _help_ you!”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Jet’s stuck frozen in place, mouth hanging open. He can’t move, can’t do anything except watch.

“It’s not what you think, Kobra I-” Benz tries, only to be cut off by Kobra’s scoff.

Sandman’s face goes hard and Jet can see the anger bubbling up. Kobra may be onto something but this isn’t the way to go about this.

“Just shut the fuck up,” Kobra snaps and Jet desperatly tries to think of a way to get him calmed down before he says or does something he can’t take back. “How do I know you two aren’t working for the City!”

Benz flinches again and Jet swears that the shaking gets worse. 

Is Kobra right though?

Are the Youngbloods actually working for the City?

It’d explain a lot but at the same time, Benz had defended Poison’s door. He’d been ready to shoot the Drac. Except... he’d hesitated.

Was is because he was against killing- which Jet has to admit is possible. He is a doctor after all… 

“We’re not working for the fucking City!” Sandman shouts angrily.

“Kobra-”  
“He pointed his gun at Jet!” Kobra says again, cutting him off before he can get the word out.

“He snuck up on me.”  
Benz is quiet but somehow his voice carries over the shouting. Everyone, even Sandman, looks down to him. But he doesn’t say anything else.

“So you try an’ shoot him?” Kobra demands lowly.  
“No! I froze. I wouldn’t ever shoot him.”  
“Kobra,” Jet tries again and by some miracle he manages to get Kobra to look at him. “Kobra he was lowering his gun as you opened the door. It just _looked_ bad.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Jet can see the conflict in Kobra’s eyes, the fear that’s underlying everything. He’s got a hand itching towards his hip, reaching for the blaster that isn’t there. 

But he’s _scared_. Visibly so. And it makes Jet’s heart constrict just looking at the fear so clearly in Kobra’s eyes. The others probably think that this is just anger but Jet knows what’s actually going through Kobra’s mind right now.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Jet takes a step closer to Kobra. He wants desperately to go to him, to comfort him. But it’s not only fear in his eyes, he’s pissed and Jet needs to defuse that first, before it gets any worse.

“Why was the Drac here at all,” Kobra demands carefully, tearing his eyes away from Jet to glare at Sandman yet again. 

“It _snuck_ in, followed Phantom and Stakes before wandering off. I’ve been trying to find it and get to it before it hurt anyone.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Kobra doesn’t look at all eased by Sandman’s words, if anything he looks all the more furious.

“It snuck in? I thought you said that this place was secure.”  
“Okay,” Jet says at last, stepping forward to wrap his hand around Kobra’s arm. “Okay. We can have this conversation- and we _are_ going to have this conversation-” he shoots his own glare at Sandman, “in a second. Let’s just get out of the fuckin’ hallway and away from the dead Drac first, okay?”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

For a moment Jet thinks that they’re going to argue but surprisingly, he gets a nod from everyone. Even Kobra relaxes slightly.

“Sandman,” Benz whispers, quietly enough for Jet to only just hear him.  
He’s certain that Kobra isn’t hearing anything right now. Just from how hard he’s shaking, Jet knows he’s about two seconds from a full blown panic. Kobra’s not even looking at any of them, just staring down at the floor. Completely gone.

But he goes pliantly into Jet’s arms when he gently pulls him closer. 

He can hear Sandman and Benz talking quietly but Jet just tries to focus on Kobra.

_________________________________________________

Three hours later Kobra finds himself out of the medical wing for the first time since he got here.

He should probably be more excited to see more of the Underground, to be in what looks like a control room of some sorts. There’s technology everywhere and a distant part of him is curious of it all. He pushes down that little voice in his head compelling him to run over to the control board and find out what each of the buttons do.

There were people in here before, a few dozen all sitting around screens and going over something on tablets like Benz’s. But Sandman cleared them all out with a sharp order as he’d lead Kobra and the others in.

Jet stands beside Kobra, their hands connected. He knows that’s so he doesn’t have _another_ breakdown like he did the moment they left the hallway. However, Kobra’s no longer scared. He’s fucking _furious_.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

And yet, somehow, in that reasoning voice that Jet does so well, he’s convinced him to hear the Youngbloods out. 

Which is dumb as fuck considering what just happened but Kobra can’t help but admit there’s a small part of him hoping that he’s wrong. 

Maybe he really has just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw things the wrong way?

That’s the only reason- fine, the _main_ reason- why he’s allowed Jet to drag him here in the first place.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling again, if only to avoid making the headache he has even worse, Kobra takes in the room around him.

On the other side of Jet- the other reason Kobra is going to be in this room whether Sandman likes it or not- sits Poison. They’re in this weird wheelchair-thing that has a little hook poking up from the back to hold the IV with. Despite how annoyingly- _heartbreakingly_\- fragile they look, his sibling is wide awake. Though, the scowl on their face tells him how pissed off they are at the Youngbloods. Poison practically jumped out of bed to pummel Benz themself when Jet had reluctantly relayed what had happened.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And adding in their frustration at being forced into a wheelchair to get here and having to wear their bandana over their hair, Poison is not in a good mood.

It’s definitely an odd change from earlier. This almost feels like normal again. That ever present fire and burning emotion in Poison’s eyes, rather than pain and fear that’s held so much ground recently.

“Okay,” Sandman begins as he slowly rounds the large, wooden table in the center of the room.

Benz sits behind him, all but crumpled in a chair tucked into the corner. He’s quiet and Kobra can’t help but notice how his hands shake as he cleans his glasses.

Beside him stands who must be Phantom. He’s tall and built strong, with short hair that’s just a little too blond to be natural. But nowhere near as bright as Poison’s. He’s quiet too but he’s watching Kobra and the others closely. It’s almost protective the way he’s all but hovering around Benz.  
That makes some of the anger spike up a bit in Kobra’s blood. Benz was the one fucking pointing guns at _Jet_!__

_ __ _

_ __ _

If anything Kobra should be the one hovering over Jet. 

On the other side of Benz, Stakes sits up on one of the desks that line the walls. He’s got one leg stretched out and massaging it a little like it’s sore. Kobra notices how filthy both he and Phantom look, covered in grime. He can faintly smell the scent of burned clothing.

“Okay,” Sandman says again. He’s in front of the center table now, his back to his crew as he faces The Four with a sober expression. “We’ve made some mistakes in communication lately and I think it’d be best for us to just sit down and sort it out.”

No one objects as Sandman looks to each of them individually. Ghoul fucking _smiles_ at him though when he meets Sandman’s eyes. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

God Kobra is going to fucking _kill_ him.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

The Youngbloods aren’t their friends and Ghoul’s amnesiac ass is gonna get them all killed.

Jet squeezes his hand and shoots him a concerned look out of the corner of his eye, and Kobra tries to think of something else.

“Okay good,” Sandman says with a relieved, yet tired smile. “Now, I’ll admit, most of this our fault. We were trying to keep you safe but in the process we didn’t really help build any trust. So, I guess I’ll start with the beginning like I should have done in the first place.”  
“Yeah,” Kobra interrupts, making everyone turn to him. “How th’ hell did you even _know_ to come lookin’ for us in HQ?”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

He feels a glare from Phantom but Kobra refuses to glance over to him. He has every right to ask these questions and honestly, he’s a bit past being nice about it.

“That’s fair,” Sandman breathes, the anger from earlier apparently gone. “We listen to the frequencies broadcast by both the desert and the City. It helps us be prepared for increased Drac activity and things like that.”

“We didn’t exactly fuckin’ broadcast when we were goin’ on the waves though,” Kobra counters quickly.

“No but we were able to pick up on your conversation with the pirate radio guy, Doctor Death. The signal was weak because of how far out in the desert you were but we got the gist of it. Then we decided that since the four of you were taking on Better Living by your fucking _selves_ that we could at least sit ready as backup should anything go wrong.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Sandman looks directly at Kobra. All he can do is nod because that explanation is good enough. Barely. But still good enough.  
“How’d you know anythin’ went south?” Jet speaks up, his gaze flitting across the room to look at each of the Youngbloods in turn.

But it’s Sandman who yet again answers.

“Well, at first it was just a bad feeling that I had. But then there was radio silence. We figured there had to be some sort of chatter if you guys were booking it out of the City. But there was just _nothing_.”  
“And then,” Stakes adds, speaking for the first time, “we heard the order for everyone to get out because of Fun Ghoul’s bombs.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Sandman nods his head before saying, “Yeah, and after that we put two and two together and realized things hadn’t gone to plan.”

“And you guys were just waitin’ for us?” Kobra questions, some of the suspicion easing from deep within him.

They’re all making good points and as much as he’s reluctant to admit, they might actually be telling the truth.

“Yeah. Just in case. I mean, I’ve never seen anyone go up against Better Living like that, especially not alone,” Stakes tells them, something in his voice soft and almost concerned.  
“But why would you _care_?”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Because we’re on the same side of this, Kobra,” Sandman all but pleads. “We’re going against the same enemy and we help out fellow rebels when they need it.”

Something about the way Sandman says fellow strikes hard against Kobra’s resolve. 

“We didn’t need your help.”

“Kobra,” Jet interjects at last with a firm squeezing of his hand. “As much as I don’t wanna admit it, we _did_ need their help. We would’a died in there.”  
“But that was the whole point!”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“_Kobes_-”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“No,” Kobra yanks his hand from Jet’s as he spins around to face him. “That was the fucking _plan_. We get The Girl out. Or we die trying. We knew that going in and we didn’t need help from any fucking _Ritalin Rats_ to do our fucking job. She got out. That was our mission and we did it.”  
Kobra’s words seem to echo around him. Jet stands frozen, mouth open like he wants to say something. Kobra can't bring himself to look at Poison.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

“Kobra…” Poison whispers roughly, eyes just as wide as Jet’s and a billion more emotions brimming in their expression.

Of course Ghoul just stands there with a blank look. One that pisses Kobra off even more because _Ghoul_ would have something to say, an opinion of some fucking kind on this conversation. But he says nothing. Because he doesn’t even remember what they’re talking about. He has no idea and that infuriates Kobra like nothing else.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Take that back,” Sandman spits, practically seething as he takes a step closer to Kobra.

What is he _talking_ about?  
Oh. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Kobra can’t fight back the cruel smirk on his face as he realizes what’s pissed Sandman off so much. He’d been right apparently. Some of the people down here are still on the City’s meds. It makes _sense_ that it’d be one of the Youngbloods.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“No,” he counters, enjoying the way Sandman looks like he’s about to blow. “If the shoe fuckin’ fits right?”  
Sandman makes like he’s about to lunge at Kobra but Phantom catches him roughly by the shoulder, yanking him back. 

“You’re one to talk!” he shouts anyway, fighting strong against his friend’s hold.

His words hit hard though, and Kobra sees fucking red.

“How do you know that?” he demands, voice low and deadly.

For a long, suffocating moment, no one speaks.

Jet connects their hands again, wordlessly telling him to back down and just let it go. Kobra tries to let it relax him, to focus solely on Jet and nothing else. And it works, just not enough.

“How do you know that?”

This time, it’s Poison who speaks up. The grittiness, the shake to their voice doesn’t hinder the power of their demand. This is the voice they use on Exterminators, on the Crows, where every one can hear the authority in their words.

“I’m a doctor,” Benz admits quietly, making Kobra realize that he’s still in the room. “I can recognize the signs of a previous dependency on the City’s drugs. I noticed it when I was cleaning you up after we brought you back here. On a couple of you actually.”

Again, much to Kobra’s frustration, even more of the suspicion drains from him. It feels like it takes his strength with it. But it’s obvious that Benz isn’t done yet.

“That and…” the doctor continues in a shaky voice. “That and I know the lasting… effects, first hand.”

Ice drops in Kobra’s stomach as a pang of _sympathy_ hits him like a brick. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

The pieces click together slowly in his mind. How quiet Benz is, even compared to Sandman. How methodical he is when he’s changed their bandages or adjusted some medical equipment. Quick, precise, _learned_ movements that the drugs likely reinforced.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And the shaking, how had Kobra missed the shaking?

Benz has been off the drugs for a long time, even Kobra can tell that much, but he went cold turkey from the looks of it. And if he was a doctor back then, the City probably had him on the highest doses possible and-

And _fuck_… __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Kobra barely survived his withdrawals and he was on one of the _lowest_ doses possible, even for someone his age! __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“I’m sorry,” Kobra finds himself whispering, his eyes falling as an odd mix of shame and sympathy swirls in his gut.

“So can you stop fucking assuming shit?”  
Even the spark of rage at the way Sandman says that isn’t enough to make Kobra retaliate. Shame and guilt build up in his throat, blocking anything he might have wanted to say. 

“Okay,” Phantom says, visibly squeezing Sandman’s shoulder- as a comfort or a warning Kobra can’t be sure- before letting go. “Stop being such a hot head and finish explaining.”  
“Wha- _me_ being the hot head? I-”  
Phantom shuts him up with a glare the same time Kobra gets a warning look from Jet. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Fine,” Sandman huffs as, seemingly satisfied, Phantom goes back over to Benz.

The doctor has his eyes on the floor but Stakes has moved closer to him to lean over his shoulders in a backwards sort of hug. It seems to be calming him down.

A little voice in the back of Kobra’s head whispers that he’s been an asshole and that he needs to apologize further, but he pushes it down. They still don’t know the full story. 

Sandman clears his throat and starts again, this time his voice is almost casual, calm even.

“So, after we brought you guys back here, we knew that we were going to have to keep you hidden. I think we can all agree that if word gets out that you’ve survived, and that you’re here, shit would hit the fan.”  
“And you just- what, took it upon yourselves to choose what’s best for us?” Poison questions, eyes narrowed slightly.

They look intimidating, even in that stupid ass chair.

“No. It’s not like that,” Sandman reasons with a shake of his head. “ It was like a week before all of you were even conscious and I’m sorry but none of you are in any sort of fighting state.”  
Sandman pauses as he takes a deep breath and looks directly at Poison.“I admit that I should have told you guys more but I was only trying to let you guys get back on your feet with as little trouble as possible.”

Poison is quiet a long moment and Kobra knows that they’re picking apart every word. But oddly enough, Sandman genuinely sounded sincere. He’d been able to look _Poison_ in the eyes while saying it and unless he’s the worlds best liar, he’s telling the truth.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Next time,” Poison says slowly, even the weakness of their voice wavering long enough for the intimidation to seep through yet again. “Include us in that discussion.”

Visibly paleing, Sandman nods.

“Good. Keep talkin'.”

“Yeah… uh so I kept someone guarding your doors up until the other day. You were all awake and generally okay so I figured you’d appreciate some freedom. But… we send out crews every night. Mostly it's scouting and a few supply runs in both the desert and the City. These missions are dangerous for obvious reasons and we have lost people before. The other night though, we lost another crew. People I- _we_ knew personally. Except, this time they weren’t killed. The City, they-” Sandman’s voice _breaks_ on the last word and they all seem to fill in the words that he can’t say.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

He clears his throat and looks down at his feet, his hands clenched by his sides.

“Before they went down, the crew reported an insane number of Dracs and Exterminators on the streets of the City. That shit doesn’t happen, I mean- Dracs yeah, sure. But _Exterminators_?” he shakes his head. “The same goes for the desert. It’s crawling with S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S and Exterminators alike.”  
“Does the City know we lived? Are they looking for us?” Poison asks carefully.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“I don’t think so. They think they won. Just about every channel we can tune to has them broadcasting how they killed the four of you. Everyone, even the desert, thinks you’re dead.”

It feels like something hits Kobra, like something’s crashing into him and crushing the wind out of his chest.

This isn’t news, he’s already _knew_ this but somehow hearing it out loud makes it so much fucking worse and-__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“And people are fighting harder in retaliation,” Poison adds aloud after a long moment.

Kobra’s thoughts come to a sudden, jarring halt.

He’d always known they were going to die one day, not too far in the future. You don’t really live to ripe old ages out in the desert. But he’d always assumed that when they finally died- in a hail of laser fire and explosions as they gave Better Living one last giant middle finger- that it’d be together. He doesn’t want to think of a life without his crew, without his family. But he wouldn't have to worry about that. Because it was almost a given that they’d go out together or not at all.  
A part deep inside of him had been ready for that end when they’d stormed the building.

But he’d also always assumed that the rebellion would simply go on without them.  
They’re just four people and they can’t _possibly_ have that much of a sway for their deaths to lead to something like this.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Yes,” Sandman answers quietly, like he’s delivering bad news. In a way he is. “Your apparent deaths have lead to the City cracking down on the rebels almost as hard as those within their walls. And the desert is fighting back. _Hard_. In your names.”  
One word rings loud in Kobra’s ears, making his head spin with the velocity of it.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

_Martyrs___

_ __ _

_ __ _

Poison curses under their breath and Kobra all but stumbles back until he’s against Jet’s chest.

He feels like he’s suffocating, like all of the air has been sucked out of the room around him and someone is holding his nose just out of spite. He gasps, trying to pull in a breath as he distantly hears Jet whisper something in his ear.

But he doesn’t listen. _Can’t_ listen.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

He never wanted this.

He never even wanted to fight in the first fucking place, to have to kill in order to just survive.

Kobra’s a coward, underneath it all that's what he is.

Survival is all he ever wanted. When he left for the desert all he thought about was living, about getting to live another day with his sibling by his side. It was never about revenge or fighting the City.

Not at first.

That was always Poison.

They hated the City from the moment they were old enough to begin questioning the lies the two of them were being fed. Poison was the one who fought, the one with the burning rebellious streak and the fire as bright as their hair burning in their soul.

But Kobra… he simply followed even though he was the one to drag them out.

It wasn’t until they met Ghoul, learned his story and heard what the City had done to him, that Kobra began to feel that spark of rebellion really ignite.

It’s not that he didn’t care in the beginning, he did, it was more that he didn’t think that there was anything _he_ could do about it.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

He’s just one person.

But then things started going so fast, the Dracs beginning to pay more attention to them. The way that suddenly people were calling them on the waves to ask for _their_ help because they knew that The Four had fought against a Crow and _won_. No one seemed to remember that that fight nearly killed them, all anyone focused on was the fact that they’d won.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

And then, they got The Girl and suddenly there were wanted posters everywhere and an Exterminator assigned to them. Suddenly, before Kobra could even blink, Poison was standing on the hood of the AM preaching rebellion to any listening ear. The Four of them were all at once planning and leading raids, taking out Dracs every day like it was fucking routine. Because at this point, it _is_.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And bit by bit Kobra fell into the rebellion just as hard as his sibling.

He’s not ashamed by that, by what he fights for. Not for a fucking long shot. It just took him some time to get that fire in him that his sibling was born with.When he was younger, when he’d first gotten out, if you’d asked him how he wanted to spend the rest of his life, he’d have shrugged and flipped you off. All he cared about then was one day at a time.

Get food for him and Poison, make sure they didn’t accidentally shoot themself with the one gun they managed to find. Keep each other warm. Ignore the shaking in his hands and the craving for the pills.

Try and get Poison to smile like they used to.

It was simple, monotonous in a strange way. Because they were struggling to survive, each day harder than the last, but in that moment Kobra had everything he ever needed.

But to be _martyrs_, for the desert to actually fight back after they’re gone, like their lives where something that spurred them on… Kobra just can’t wrap his head around that.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“And so we pulled everyone back in. We were just waiting on Stakes and Phantom to come back from their mission and the place was gonna be locked down.”  
Sandman sighs after he’s done, probably able to see the effect this is having on each of them.

But Jet’s presence is strong against Kobra’s back, his breaths steady and enough for him to focus on and bring his racing heart back under control.

Stakes stands abruptly, Benz making a quiet whining sound that no one else seems to hear. 

“The Drac followed _us_ back in. I can’t run that fast anymore, fucked up my leg a while back. And our comms got smashed and we didn’t know it was on our tail. I went straight here to give my report to the guy in charge of files and shit. I just happened to glance to the screen and I saw the Drac roaming the halls.”  
“He called me right away but I didn’t manage to get to Benz until he’d already taken it out,” Sandman finishes, glancing over to his friend briefly.  
“Jet killed it. I couldn’t.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

If Sandman is surprised by Benz’s admission he doesn’t show it. But Kobra’s only just managing to keep up.  
“And,” Jet’s soft voice comes from behind Kobra, close to his ear. “I startled him by shooting from behind him. He was about to drop his gun when you opened the door.”

“If I couldn’t kill the Drac do you really think I’d be able to kill your friend?” Benz asks, something close to bitterness lining his words.

“I- shit… fuck I-” Kobra shakes his head, far too many thoughts bouncing around right now for him to even begin to string together an appropriate apology. “I’m sorry…” 

The words are hard to form but he knows now that they’re necessary. 

He’d been wrong and clearly, most of this could have been avoided if he’d just thought to actually talk to the Youngbloods. Ya know, like Jet _and_ Poison advised him to do.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Just, can we agree to try and work together now?” Phantom asks, looking at both his crew and the Four.

Kobra waits for Poison to answer, it feels like it’s their place to decide whether or not a new slate is possible. But no one says anything. Slowly Kobra realizes that it’s his decision.

“Okay,” he says quickly.

That earns him a smile from Sandman, a soft sigh from Poison too. As he leans back again against Jet, Kobra tries to focus on that instead of everything else he could let his thoughts carry him away to.

“Good. Now, since my crew is back in base, we’re officially on lock down. I don’t want anyone in or out until we can ensure that it’s clear.”  
“How do we do that?” Poison asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Kobra looks over to them, unable to hide his concern. They look worn but that strength still burns in their eyes. 

He knows that if he voiced his concern now, he’d only get shrugged off.

“I have a plan. But for right now, my tech team needs to be back in this room. How about the four of you eat dinner tonight with us in the Hall. We can talk more then.”

Agreement from both sides goes mostly unheard to Kobra. He practically stumbles through the door as Jet leads him out. Ghoul pushes Poison's chair, he notices absently. Though the two of them don't speak. 

Jet’s talking though, soft words that Kobra can’t quite make out. He feels dazed, almost drunk with everything buzzing around in his mind.

Everyone thinks they’re dead. They’re fucking martyrs apparently and-

And shit-

There’s a _reason_ that martyrs are supposed to be dead. The weight of that, the fact that people are probably dying in their name it’s almost too much for Kobra to even think about.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Feedback is always very much appreciated!  
<3


	6. And You're The Only Place That Feels Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sure, it takes a little mistake/All the capsules you take/When we dream we all shake"  
~Don't Try by Gerard Way. Don't ask me how this song fits, it makes sense to me but I just can't explain how~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!  
Just wanna say, sorry for all the tragic backstory that I've been unconsciously sprinkling into this fic. I mean, it's necessary for plot and stuff so I don't feel too bad. Everything I write is so angsty and I really shouldn't question it anymore should I?
> 
> So yeah, I want to thank @pauladiazcruz for being my amazing beta and for all of her help with planning out the ending. Yep. You heard me right, I've actually got a for-real ending in mind already. It's all thanks to her because lord knows I mostly just wing this shit.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Chapter title is from "I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me". *
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
* hinted alcoholism  
* mild talk of death  
*I dunno if it counts as a trigger but apparently I used the word "fuck" in this fic over 40 times. so, warning for that

Being pushed around has got to be one of the most embarrassing situations Poison has ever been in.

Yeah sure, that time they got their entire hand stuck in a hole in the diner’s wall sucked and the guys had teased them about it for ages afterwards. But this is just different.

It was bad enough with the constant worried glances everyone gives them when they think Poison isn’t looking, as if they’re gonna keel over on the spot or something. But being told they’re not strong enough to walk just sits differently somehow.  
It’s degrading. That’s the only word they can think of to describe it.

They’re not some fucking dying old person, they don’t need a stupid chair to get around. If they want to walk, they’re gonna fucking walk.

Even Kobra, despite his hesitancy to trust Benz after that shit in the hallway, had taken the doctor’s side and insisted Poison use the goddamned chair. Which was completely unfair because he’s their fucking brother, he should’a taken their side in this.

And you see, they would feel bad about being bitter over all of this, especially when they fucking know that their crew is only trying to look out for them. But at the same time, being told by almost a complete fucking stranger that they aren’t even aloud to stand on their own pisses them off to no goddamned end. 

If they weren’t still reeling from what Sandman just told their crew, still trying to wrap their head around all of this, Poison would be sprinting down the fucking halls just to spite all of them. Kobra and Jet included.

But they are still trying to think through what they’ve just learned.

It makes sense that everyone thinks they’re dead, that part was basically a given, but what they hadn’t accounted for- what Poison never even thought to take into consideration, was what the world would do after they died.

Sure, they fight every single day to make an impact. Be that by fucking up Better Living’s shit in any way they can or by helping out other desert dwellers who’re in a tight spot. Hell, they've practically begged people to stand up against Better Living on multiple occasions.  
So yeah, they’ve made something of a difference. But never like this.

Poison isn’t egotistical enough to think that the world would be better or worse off after they’re all gone. Despite what everyone thinks, they know that the four of them are just passing souls. The world will move on when they’re gone. It should move on.

And yeah, of course they’d like to think they made a lasting difference, even in just one person’s life, but those same people who they helped are now fighting back against a corporation that thinks it’s winning.

They’re fighting and dying because of Poison’s actions. They were the one who decided their own life wasn’t worth any more than The Girl’s, that they’d willingly die for her safety. That decision never felt easy, it was never a straight answer. They wasted days trying to figure out what they hell they could even do, if she was even still alive to save.  
Poison thought they’d run every possibility, every outcome, a million times over. They were prepared to die, to go down fighting for what they believed in with their crew right by their side. But apparently, they’d never given much thought as to what would happen after they died.

They glance over as inconspicuously as possible to where Jet and their brother are walking beside them. Kobra’s basically gone, head down and arms crossed tightly over his chest like he does when he’s really upset.  
Jet’s got an arm around him, keeping him steady and whispering something as they all make their way down the hallway.

A little spark of hurt comes from watching Jet comfort Kobra like that. 

They’d deny it until they’re blue in the face- which probably wouldn’t take long given how they still can’t quite get a full breath in- but they long to have someone wrap their arms around them and just be there. That person hopefully being Ghoul.

Before everything went to absolute shit, Ghoul would have caught on instantly to how Poison is feeling, how everything is wrong and too much all at once. He’d have wrapped them in his arms and held them close. It wouldn’t fix things, it never did, but they’d be safe for a little while. Long enough to breathe and get their head back on right. 

They need that right now, desperately.

Whenever they blink all they can see is the Exterminator. His eyes haunt them, the feel of his gun almost tangible even though they know he’s not here.

Poison’s been like this before, struggled to get over a particularly bad clap. But never this bad. Never like this.  
And on top of everything else they’ve got running through their head, Poison just wants a break. Just a fucking second to think calmly about this without the worry over their crew’s health or the desert fighting back. A clear moment where they won’t see Korse’s face in their head, won’t remember second by second what happened to them each time they take a painful breath. The dull ache in their throat only makes it worse, a constant reminder.

“Kobra,” Jet says gently as they all come to a stop in front of Poison’s door.

Kobra looks up, eyes somewhat unfocused but he’s slightly more there than he was before.

“You ‘n Ghoulie go lay down for a while, ‘for we eat.”

Their brother nods numbly as Ghoul fumbles to put the locks on Poison’s wheels before stepping away. His movements are stiff as he goes to follow Kobra down the hall, purposely keeping a few inches between them.  
It hurts Poison to see the two of them so distant. They’ve been impossibly close for a long time but now it’s like they don’t even know each other.

Though, they assume that that literally is the case for Ghoul.

“Poison?”

It takes them a moment to realize Jet’s talking to them but once they do, they offer him an apologetic half smile. It’s all they can manage but he relaxes visibly, making them feel even worse for worrying Jet. He’s probably more stressed than they are and here Poison is, too caught up in thought to actually help their crew get through this.

“You should lay down for a bit too. I ain’t got a fancy degree like Benz but I know you. And you’re tired.”  
Are they?

Poison isn’t sure.

They’re sore, yeah. And somewhere between confused and guilty. But tired isn’t something they’d use. 

Jet looks tired.

He’s got smudging of dark under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept well over the past few days. His normally well kept hair- as well kept as you can get in the desert anyway- is actually tangled and frizzy underneath his ball cap. But he looks better too. If that makes sense.

Jet’s clean, no dust or sand covering every inch of him like there normally is. Showers are normally pretty useless when you spend all day everyday basically wallowing in a gigantic sandbox anyway.

But Jet looks good. Stressed yeah, definitely tired, but healthy. And that’s all Poison would ever want. 

He’s even changed into clothes that fit him a little better. They’re still muted colors more attuned to living in the City than the desert, but they’re more Jet’s style. An old grey t-shirt with some band’s logo faded on the front with dark, worn looking jeans. 

His jacket is unzipped and-

Oh. Oh shit.

Poison hadn’t even fucking noticed that he was wearing his jacket again. It didn’t even register and they’ve been together for over an hour now. 

Even knowing it’s coming doesn’t stop the impact of Korse’s face popping up in their mind. It hits them like a brick, like a laser blast set to stun. It hurts, sends you reeling and disoriented, but there’s no real damage.  
Poison’s fine, they’re in the Underground and safe but, but Korse- he-

“Hey, Poison, hey.”  
They shake their head to get rid of the image, the memory, but it only serves to make their neck hurt. It feels like Korse’s gun is under their chin again, that cool metal pressing deep into their flesh as-

“Party.”  
The sharpness to Jet’s voice pulls them out. Somehow.

Poison realizes their eyes are squeezed shut tightly, that they’re gasping for breath like they’re about to faint. Their head is light and they can barely feel Jet’s hands on their arms. 

“It’s okay,” Jet begins gently, that same tone he was using for Kobra earlier. “It’s alright. Just take deep breaths for me okay? You’re alright.”  
Jet’s words don’t really help, because it really isn’t okay, but his tone does. It’s calming, one of the thing’s Jet’s so good at. They recognize this as the same voice he uses when someone’s hurt and he’s trying to keep them from panicking and making things worse.

Slowly, as if their eyes weight tons each, Poison looks up at Jet. He’s crouched down in front of their chair, strong hands resting on their forearms and concerned eyes watching them carefully.

Their neck hurts worse now, like they’ve somehow managed to pull the skin. Poison is fairly sure that you can’t rip the weird skin graft-thing Benz did but they really would rather not find out. 

“Party?” Jet asks carefully, still watching them like they’re about to pass out.

“Sorry… sorry I just uh… I’m fine. Sorry about that.”  
Jet squints, clearly not completely satisfied but he does let go of their arms. He watches them a moment longer as one arm rubs at his chest. At the wound on his chest.

Fuck. 

Poison isn’t the only one hurt here and they need to fucking stop freaking out over nothing. Jet’s been dealing with them since they woke up, constantly worrying and hovering, and they haven't once done anything to help him.

“Are you alright?” They question gently, pissed at the way their voice comes out.  
It’s so quiet, raspy like someone who’s been smoking their whole life. Which yeah, Poison smokes but it’s not nearly as much as some people. They heard once that back before the Wars, people would smoke multiple packs a day. Which is impossible for them to imagine. They get maybe one or two a month, nowhere near enough to actually fuck up their lungs this badly.

But this isn’t from smoking, Poison knows that. 

It was from the stupidly hot laser beam that decided it wanted to somehow ricochet off their jaw bone and go through their throat rather than their brain.

“Me?” Jet asks incredulously.

His hand falls from his chest but Poison can’t pull their eyes away from where they know the bandages are. Jet is like their best fucking friend. He’s saved their life more times than they can fucking count. And how have they repaid him? 

By getting shot first and letting him get a laser beam through his fucking chest. Maybe Kobra and Ghoul’s injuries weren’t exactly life threatening, but Jet’s were. They remember what that injury feels like, can remember the fucking weeks of recovery it took them.  
Without the Youngblood’s help, Jet would not be standing here right now. 

And it’s Poison's fault.

“Yeah, you look like you’re sore,” they tell him as casually as they can, as if they’re not drowning in the guilt that’s pouring into every thought they have.

Jet chuckles, shaking his head as his face lights up in a real smile.

“Only a little,” he tells them honestly. “But you’re not dodging my question that easily.”

Poison does their best to hide the groan of frustration bubbling up in them. They don’t need his worry because they’re not the one everyone should be concerned about. Does no one else realize that Poison isn’t the only one hurt?

“You didn’t really ask one,” Poison counters easily, though it doesn’t have the intended effect when they still sound like they’ve ran for miles.

Jet narrows his eyes, clearly not happy with them avoiding his concern. But they’re fine, honestly.

Like they said, they’ve experienced shit like this before -nightmares and lingering fear, just feeling off after a particularly bad clap. And that’s all this is.

It’ll pass. It always does.

“I’m fine,” Poison insists, even as Jet huffs a little in disbelief. “I’m a little spacey ‘s all.”

“You were shaking two minutes ago. That's not just being spacey.”

“It’s cold down here,” they counter, suddenly worried about how much Jet really saw. 

He worries entirely too much for his own good sometimes and the least that Poison can do is let him focus his worry on people who actually need it. Like Ghoul. Like Kobra.

“Party…”  
His tone is warning but his face is soft, open. Jet wants them to spill, to vent whatever it is that’s on their mind and then maybe they can both lay down for a nap or something. But it’s not that easy.

They’re fine.

They were in a bad clap and their head’s still ringing a little is all. It’ll take a bit before they feel themself again. But it’s normal.

“It’s nothing Jet. I’m just… just trying to get my head ‘round what the Youngbloods told us ya know?”  
It's not a full lie, Poison is running everything that Sandman said over and over again in their head. So it’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either.

For an almost painfully tense moment, Poison is sure that Jet won’t buy it.

They’re good at lying, it’s one of the reasons they made it in the City as long as they did. But Jet’s always been stupidly good at picking out the little half truths that they hide in those lies.

“Yeah… me too honestly,” Jet says with a sigh, one that seems to weigh him down rather than bring him any relief. “But we should be able to figure out what we’re gonna do from here when we sit down with the Youngbloods later. I gotta feelin’ that Sandman’s already got a plan.”

Poison nods, not really knowing what else to say. They get the feeling that the second they open their mouth Jet’ll be able to see right through them.

He ends up looking at them for a drawn out moment, long enough for them to worry. They can tell he’s thinking something over, simply from the way his face scrunches and his eyes go a bit distant. 

“C’mon. You need sleep,” Jet tells them at last as he turns to open the door to their room before coming back around to push them inside.  
“Wait-”

Jet stops behind them, his hands probably resting on the handles while he waits on them to speak up. It’s hard to get the words to form, more than just from the annoying soreness that lingers. If they’re not careful Jet’ll go into full worry mode, something that they neither need or want right now. 

“I’m not- I’m not tired,” Poison begins slowly. “Can we just… go for a walk or somethin’?”  
At that, Jet comes back around to face Poison again. His eyes are narrow, his arms are crossed over his chest as he considers them.

“I just think I’ll be able t’ think a bit more if we just walk for a bit,” they explain quickly, waving their hand like it’s no big deal.

Yet again, Jet just stares. He’s picking apart everything they’ve said, how they look right now, Poison knows that. But then something in his expression lightens and he lets out a barely audible sigh.

“I hope you mean in that chair because there’s no way in hell I’m lettin’ you outta it.”  
Poison nods their head, maybe a bit too eagerly but Jet finally relaxes a bit. He shuts the door with one hand before coming over to take the handles on their chair.

“We’re not goin’ far,” he warns but his voice is gentle again, teasing.

Familiar and not laced with concern. Concern they don’t need.

“Okay.”

They set off down the hall in comfortable silence. The lines of overhead lights lead on forever, turning each corner with them and illuminating the hallway around them. Everything is quiet, more so than you’d think with the Youngbloods pulling everyone back to base. A few people do pass them on their way but no one really even spares a second glance to the two of them. It’s odd really.

Poison is used to turning heads, to grabbing attention and never letting go of it. If everyone’s looking at them, then no one is watching Ghoul arm a bomb directly under an Exterminator’s car or Kobra hacking their comms. Or Jet freeing captured rebels. It’s easy to get away with things like that when everyone’s looking at them rather than their crew.

But no one even really looks at them right now. Not even the guards they pass. It’s strange, in a way that they’re not sure is good or bad. It’s just… there.  
And Poison knows it’s more than just different clothes and covering up their hair. Sure, they look nothing like themself right now, that much is true. But it’s more than that. They just don’t look at all like desert rebels are supposed to.

There’s no fire, no anger and fearlessness that everyone knows the Four are full to the brim with. They’re chaos, pure rebellion and freedom. That’s what they stand for, what pours out of them with every breath they take because they know that it could be their last.

But right now, with Poison in this stupid chair and honestly too tired to even try and hold up a conversation with their best friend… they just don’t look the part anymore. They don’t feel the same. They’re different now, so much more so than they’ve ever been. It feels cliche to say it but… that clap- it changed them. They’re not the same person they were going into it as they are now. 

Because now all that Poison is doing is all lying around all day, like dying dogs who know it’s useless to get up. 

And Poison hates it.  
It’s just not in them to be so still, complacent. Before all of this, the day that they sat still was the day they’re ghosted. It’d taken Jet threatening to shave their hair and dye it blonde before they’d actually given in and rested after the last time they were shot. Even then, they’d gotten out of it early by taking watch over The Girl while the others went on a run. 

So just sitting around like this is so far from normal that Poison feels like they can’t see straight. But at the same time, they don’t know what else they can do.

If they tried to act like that now, to be as loud and as angry as they wanted, jump up and insist on doing something, it would only end in the City knowing they’re here. 

It’s suffocating, living like this. 

It feels like living in the City again.

And that’s the absolute last thing that they want to do, have the government realize they’re still here. The second that happens, all of this will be over. They’ll all die for real this time, The Girl included. And it’s just not worth it to risk that.

But acting like this, even though they know they can’t do anything else for a whole flood of reasons… they just can’t help but feel like they’re back in the City.  
Masking emotions and dull clothing. Quiet.

Lazy.

Sure, Poison’s not on the mood controlling drugs- they would rather fucking die than ever touch those horrible little capsules ever again- but Benz has them on what feels like a fucking cocktail of medicine. And they hate it. With every part of them they hate this.

But just like that old dog, they’re too tired to do this anymore. They just don’t have the energy for this, to fight again so soon.  
Fuck, Poison can’t even fucking look at their gun right now. 

They tried, hoping against hope that it’d fit one of those loose pieces dangling around in their chest back into place. But the second they looked at it, on one of the rare occasions where they were alone, Poison had been shot back into time- back to the clap. It was so fast, so fucking real, that they’d almost blacked out with the force of it.

It’d taken hours of lying curled up tightly under the sheets and trying in vain to breathe properly before they even felt like they could think again. They don’t want to try again, can’t try that again. 

The gun sits forgotten, desperately ignored and exactly where they left it.

“Maybe I could convince Benz to let us borrow some scissors,” Jet starts randomly, his tone nothing but conversational and easy.

Poison reels for a moment, trying to decide if he’s been talking this whole time and they’ve just been ignoring him. They’ve been so lost in thought that they haven't even paid attention to where they’re going but it’s clear they’re still in the med ward, albeit quite a good bit away from their room by the unfamiliarity of the doors they pass. The whole place smells of disinfectant, just like the real hospitals in the City, and Poison scrunches their nose up a bit. But Jet is already continuing, mostly just wondering aloud to himself it seems.

“I know Kobra’s been itching for a trim and you know I love you, but you need a couple ‘a inches off too.”

The normal response to that, the one that Poison should have no problem in saying, is over their dead fucking body.  
But the words just don’t come.  
They know Jet’s only teasing, he always says they need to trim their hair a bit. But they can’t find it in them to respond with something so carefree right now.

So, Poison just hums and lets Jet ramble on about Kobra maybe shaving his head a bit like theirs. They try to pay attention but they know it’s useless. Even so, Jet’s voice fills Poison’s mind with something other than all of the shit they’re worrying about. Calmness, peace. As fragile and fleeting as it is. It’s greatly appreciated.

It’s nice to just zone out, to watch the identical doors pass by as Jet talks quietly about maybe adding a new patch to his jacket.

However, they do wonder what’s so different about this time.

Why has this clap stayed with them like this?

They’ve never been tired of fighting, not really anything. Nothing that some rest or something couldn’t fix. But this feels like a different kind of tired.

Poison’s stuck, they can’t immediately fight back like the small, distant part of them wants to because if they do the City will know they lived. But at the same time, this was the closest they all have ever gotten to actually getting ghosted. A large part of them wants to hide their crew away, away from the City and away from other rebels and just be safe. 

“What’s on your mind?” Jet asks kindly from behind them.

They can’t see his face but the gentleness to his voice betrays his concern. Poison can lie, right now they can lie and say they’re thinking about what food they’re going to have later. Or … or they could come clean.

“Why is this so different?” they whisper, hating the way their voice breaks from the strain they’ve put on it today.

“What’s different?”

“Everythin’ Jet. I-” Poison sighs, taking a steadying breath before continuing. “I just don’t get why this clap has bothered me so much.”

There’s a beat of silence where they’re halfway waiting on him to laugh at them. It’s dumb, they know it is. Clearly this was a bad clap but it just… doesn’t feel bad enough to impact them like this. Before they know it, they’re rambling on, arms waving.

“I mean, I didn’t even see you guys get hurt. I was already fuckin’ down so why do I-”  
“Party,” Jet interrupts quickly. 

They pause, thrown off by their first name but slowly realizing how heavy they’re breathing. Jet stops walking, making Poison stop as well, and comes around to face them again. He looks… stricken, worried. 

To make things worse, he actually crouches down to their height.

“It feels different because it was,” Jet says gently.

It’s the same voice that he does when The Girl throws a fit, only for them to realize it’s because she’s terrified they’re not going to come back from their run that day. It’s that sad reassurance that carefully hides something they just can’t promise.

“But why me?” Poison practically whines, knowing full well how childish this all has to sound. “Why can’t I fuckin’ go two seconds without rememberin’ what happened when I was the first fucking one down?!”

Jet’s face falls and that comforting strength wavers. They can see it in his face now, everything he’s hiding as well.

“You’re not the only one stuck remembering,” Jet admits softly but there’s no accusations in his words, just something that brings a weak reassurance to Poison. “I remember when you fell, when Kobra went down… when Ghoul-” he shakes his head and sharply looks back up to them. “You have every right to be affected by this Party. That clap wasn’t… it wasn’t something I think we can or should even try to get over quickly.”

Poison has to look away, down to the pale sweatpants they’re wearing. They didn’t think the others were as affected by what happened. Sure, they were a little bit. But the clear pain in Jet’s voice is eerily close to that feeling in their chest. He gets it. 

And they don’t know how they feel about that.

“I’m just… I just don’t know what to do now,” Poison admits, keeping their eyes firmly on the soft fabric of their pants. They can’t look at Jet, can’t risk stopping now. “A part of me wants to fight back harder but, Jet I’m tired. I don’t- I don’t know if I can anymore.”

Once again, Jet doesn’t answer right away. But Poison doesn’t keep going. Their throat burns from so much speaking and they feel dizzy with the way everything is spinning around in their head.

They feel like a failure, like they weren’t enough to protect The Girl, their crew, and because of that the people they care about are hurt. Because of that there are other people dying over something that’s Poison’s mistake. If they’d gotten everyone out then there’d be no uproar of the other rebels and those people wouldn’t die for a crew that isn’t even fucking dead.

“Look at me Poison, please?”

They lift their head, hesitant to see how he’s looking at them. But his eyes are unbelievably kind, gentle and understanding. Poison practically melts into him. It takes everything in them to remember they’re in the middle of a hallway and that tackling Jet and borrowing against him is a bad idea. It’d help, somehow they know that. But they don’t move, no matter how badly they want to.

“You’re not responsible for what happened, you know that right?”  
The shock must be written all over their face because Jet’s eyes are daring them to argue against that. 

But they are responsible. They’re the leader, they made the call that got everyone nearly fucking killed. It is their fault.

Jet’s face falls and only then does Poison realize they’ve said all of that outloud.

“You didn’t pull the trigger. You didn’t shoot us or take the kid in the first place. Poison,” he pauses and puts a hand on their arm. “Poison, you made the best decisions you could out of a horrible situation. Korse and Better Living are at fault. Not you.”

His hand on their arm is warm, strong and they can’t help but to lean into his touch a little. Jet’s always so good at this and even though they still feel like the weight of everything is right there, just over their head, it’s not crushing anymore.

“And,” Jet continues gently. “You’re allowed to take a break. I wouldn’t expect you to jump right back into things so soon anyway. You gotta rest, take a while to get better before you go plannin’ raids and shit.”

“Can we afford to wait though?”  
“None of you are gettin’ in a firefight any time soon if I have any say in the matter.”  
“But if they come here, if the City finds out were here, we’re gonna have to fight again Jet,” they counter with bitterness they didn’t even know they had in them. “We can’t jus’ ask for a fuckin’ break while we lay around all day. People are out there dying for us and- and-”  
“And if we went into a fight right now, we’d die. Simple as that. It’s their decision to fight Poison, we can’t hold ourselves responsible for that.”

“I can if I’m not fuckin’ doing anything to help them,” they shout, the anger and panic bubbling up to the surface and making it hard to breathe properly.

“You’re healing. That’s how you’re helpin’ ‘em. Because all those people, they’re fighting back while we can’t. Dont’cha think we owe it to ‘em to heal properly an’ come back stronger?”

Poison doesn’t know what to say to that. 

But Jet’s right, they do owe it to all of those people to do right with the extra time they’ve given them. 

With people fighting back…

“With everyone fighting Better Living,” Poison begins abruptly. “The City isn’t lookin’ for us. We’re forgotten by being remembered.”

Jet nods and takes his hand off of their arm. He rubs at his chest a moment, clearly choosing his next words carefully.

“But we don’t have to go back to that, back to fightin’ again. We could stay here, help out indirectly rather than the front lines. Party… you’re not the only one who’s tired right now. I don’t- I don’t know if I could fight again so soon either. If ever. But I’ll follow you. Whatever you decide, whenever you decide, I’ll be right behind you.”

______________________________________________________________

Oddly enough, sharing a room with Miles isn’t so bad.

He’s quiet and basically stays on his side of the bed the whole time. But Alex, even though he should probably be exhausted, can’t sleep.

Miles isn’t asleep either, but his breathing is slow and relaxed as he rests. Which is fine but there’s just so much going on in Alex’s mind right now that he’s finding it hard to lay still. He doesn’t want to disturb his friend but even just getting out of the bed will probably wake him completely. 

Alex can’t stop thinking about what Sandman said.

A few of the words he’d used, Exterminator and Scarecrow, were foreign to him. He’s fairly certain that they’re people, or at least bad guys, but other than that, nothing. 

They sound like bad news though, from the way Sandman was talking about them.

Has he fought those things before?

Alex feels like he has, the memory locked away somewhere in the pit at the back of his mind.

And the weirdest part though, the part that he doesn’t understand in the slightest, is that he remembers something.  
It’s… it’s more of a shadow, like a dream that you can remember the slightest hint of. But rather than fading away more every time Alex strains to focus on it, it’s actually getting more clear. Progress is stupidly slow, as he and Miles have been lying here for the better part of an hour and the only thing he has to show is a single feeling. But that’s more than before.

“Will ya stop fidgeting.”  
Alex turns his head to the side, half expecting Miles to be glaring at him. But he’s not. His eyes are still closed and his face relaxed. The only thing betraying that he’s awake is how one of his hands is carefully massaging his injured shoulder.

“What’re you thinkin’ about anyway?” Miles asks after a moment, though he still doesn’t look over.

Alex turns his head to stare up at the pale ceiling above him. It’s boring and not the most fun to look at, but doing so is easier than looking at Miles. 

“I sorta remember something,” he admits quietly, afraid of the backlash this is sure to get him.

He can feel the bed shake as Miles sits up abruptly but he doesn’t look away from the ceiling. There’s uneven brushstrokes running through the white paint, like whoever painted it was in a hurry and couldn’t be bothered to make it look nice.

“It’s about the fight,” Alex continues quietly, though he knows Miles is watching him intently.

“But it’s not much.”  
“What is it?”

“Mostly it’s… mostly it’s a feeling. I remember realizing that I was going to die there but- but accepting it so long as I could give Mason and… and the kid a chance to get out.”

The words weigh in the air, heavy like he’s confessed something huge. But it’s just a memory, just a tiny little split second out of the countless years he’s lost.

“The moment you sacrificed yourself,” Miles concludes, his voice nothing but a whisper.

And now that he’s said it, Alex knows Miles is right. He’s remembering the exact thought he had before he gave up his life for his crew. Or… well, nearly gave his life. 

“That’s a big thing ‘t remember Ghoulie,” Miles adds after a moment, the smile audible in his words even without Alex looking over to him. “Look I… I’m sorry I’ve been a shit friend recent’ly.”

He wasn’t about to say that. But yeah, being completely ignored by someone he knows he’s close to- even though he doesn’t remember- hurts. It stings every time, deep in his chest like someone’s taking frozen fingers to his heart. 

“ ‘s okay,” he says quietly, too tired to risk a fight.

If he shows how much this has hurt him, Alex is certain that’s the only way this will end. A fight.  
“Don’t do that, please.” 

The pain in Miles’ voice makes Alex finally look over to him. He’s sitting crossed legged on the bed, barely a foot away with his hands clasped anxiously in his lap. 

“Please,” Miles says again. “ I don’t wanna go back to fighting like we used to.”

It’s another thing Alex doesn’t remember but he just nods anyway, unsure what Miles wants him to say.  
“I’ve been shitty to you. I’m so used to you calling me out on my bullshit now that I sorta, forgot that you wouldn’t know that right now.”  
“What do you mean?” Alex asks, confused.

“Whenever I’m clammin’ shit up and being dumb, normally you’re th’ one to tell me I’m acting like an idiot. We talk and I always end up feeling better after it’s out there.”

“Oh,” is all he’s able to say.

He doesn’t remember that. But yeah, clearly Miles has been hiding shit from him. 

Apparently this is normal though? Which should probably feel annoying but it’s not. 

A part of him knows that Miles isn’t doing this on purpose… and… 

_“Alright asshole, fuckin’ spill.”___

_ __ _

_ __ _

_Kobra looks up from his hands, from the half empty bottle that he’s clutching tightly._

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“Nothing,” he replies bitterly as he takes another long drink.___

_ __ _

_ __ _

_Ghoul winces, noticing immediately the sloppiness to his movements. ___

_ __ _

__

_“Spill or I’m takin’ the bottle,” he says roughly, watching the way Kobra narrows his eyes at him.___

_ __ _

_ __ _

_But he doesn’t back down. Either Kobra is gonna tell him what’s been eating him up for this entire fuckin’ week or Ghoul’s taking the alcohol. He’s not going to let him drink himself half to fucking death like he knows he will if Ghoul leaves him be. ___

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“Nothing,” Kobra says again, quieter this time._

_ __ _

_ __ _

_He doesn’t take another drink and so Ghoul takes it as good of a time as any to plop down beside Kobra. He lets his back rest against the diner’s outer wall, feet stretched out in front of him. They’re close, maybe a foot between them, and Ghoul can smell the alcohol radiating off of him. He wants to steal the bottle, to chuck it off into the stupidly pretty sunset and be done with it. But he won’t. It’s not his place.___

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“Fine,” Kobra relents with a breathy sigh._

_ __ _

_ __ _

_He takes a long drink from the bottle before handing it over to Ghoul. As he waits on Kobra to start, Ghoul pours out what’s left into the sand beside him.___

_ __ _

_ __ _

Alex comes back to himself harshly. He feels like the breath has been knocked out of him as he flings himself up into a sitting position. Breathing heavily and trying to hang onto that memory- a memory!- he barely registers Kobra’s warm hand on his back, massaging the air back into his lungs.

“Easy Ghoul. Just breathe asshole. Don’t go scarnin’ me like that.”

And Kobra does sound scared. The moment Alex is able to breathe again he’s being pulled against Kobra and into a tight hug. He doesn’t fight back, just leans into Kobra’s touch and tries to wrap his head around the fact that he remembers something. 

“I- I remember…” he manages to exhale out more than say.  
Kobra freezes a bit but his hold doubles in strength as the words set in.

“What do you remember?” he asks shakily, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

“I… I don’t know when but it was me and you. I found you outside the diner? I dunno where that is but I know that’s where you were. If that makes sense?”  
He feels Kobra nod. 

“You were drinking and I- I wasn’t mad about that. I was upset that you were doing that instead of talking to me… and so I sat down beside you and- and I guess convinced you to tell me what was wrong. That and I poured your beer out into the sand so that you wouldn’t drink anymore.”

“Shit…” Kobra breathes once he’s done. “I remember that. Poison had been an idiot on a run ‘n almost got themself fuckin’ shot and I just… hid and drank for like a week ‘for you managed t’ talk some sense into me.”

Alex is quiet a long moment, something in Kobra’s words catching in him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says at last. “I’m sorry I don’t remember more.”

“Hush,” Kobra says instantly. “That’s not somethin’ you can control and you already remember so much.”

“But… but this was the first thing I remembered.”

Alex lays his head against Kobra’s (uninjured) shoulder, curling against him in a way that feels so familiar but not quite a memory. He feels safe though. Like the two of them are friends who are close enough to do this often. 

“Well,” Kobra begins lightly. “You remembered Poison’s pronouns instantly. You haven't fucked up not even once since you woke up. Same goes for mine. You remembered mine too. ‘N I mean Jet’s not had a day where he uses they yet but I’m sure you’d have gone along with it just fine if he had.”

“I… I didn’t even think about it.”

“See,” he says cheerfully, giving Alex a little reassuring squeeze. “You remember more than ya think.”

So maybe it’s not completely hopeless. Maybe someday soon he’ll actually have all of his memories again…

_________________________________________________

When they get back to Poison’s room, Jet insists that they sleep a little before dinner.

For once, Poison listens. They relax gratefully onto their bed and fall asleep quickly, even with the annoying hassle of trying to transfer the stupid IV to the pole next to their bed.

What feels like moments later- but is likely closer to a hour- Jet shakes them awake. They sit up with a grumpy huff, feeling like they’ve gotten no sleep at all. 

As they get used to the soft light of the room, Poison takes in the fact that Jet’s no longer wearing his jacket. But other than that, he’s in the same clothes as earlier.

“What happened to your jacket?” they question groggily, earning a chuckle from Jet.  
“Changed it. We’re goin’ into a busier part of the base an’ I don’t wanna draw attention to us.”  
They hum and stretch a bit, feeling the soft pull of their muscles as some of the tension escapes. Poison doesn’t feel… well they don’t feel fine but they do feel a bit better.

What they discuss tonight with the Youngbloods will be their first steps in whatever it is that they’re going to do after all of this. Helping them get around Better Living’s new increased patrols will mean that they are doing something.

Just slowly, doing what they can until they can think on what Jet said. 

“How’d you sleep?” Jet asks after it’s clear they’re not gonna say anything else.

Poison just shrugs and runs their hands through their hair. It’s cleaner than it’s been in ages but still damaged enough to feel rough as they play with it. They don’t know why that’s comforting, just that it is. 

“Dinner is in half an hour, figured I’d give us time to properly cover up and then make our way down,” he continues, pulling a hair tie off of his wrist and putting his hair up with it.  
The curls barely hold against the flimsy hair tie and they poof out a little around it. Some stray curls lay unhindered around Jet’s face, nicely framing his features. Poison knows that Jet’s attractive, in a pure observing sense. They get what Korba sees in Jet, that soft prettiness that conflicts well with his desert worn features. They’re not attracted to him though, not like that. They’re simply able to acknowledge that he is very pretty.

Ghoul’s got their heart though. The way his entire face lights up as he smiles, how bright his eyes get. How smart he is, even though he tries unconsciously to hide it. His tattoos, how intricate and meaningful they all are. How small he is… the way it feels when he curls up in their lap and falls asleep with his head on their shoulder. He snores, not quietly either. His snores are loud and rough, but somehow another part of him that Poison loves so fucking much.

“Here’s your bandana,” Jet says, tossing the red and black bandanna onto their lap.

A part of them wants to tie it around their neck, to hide the white bandages that scream to everyone that they were hurt. But their bright red hair is another matter. A more important one.

So, Poison ties their old bandana around their hair so that only the shaved undersides are visible. They feel almost naked without their color showing, without the bright red showing anyone who looks exactly who they are.

But that’s the point they guess..

“Ready?” Jet asks, rolling the stupid wheelchair up next to their bed.

Poison nods and swings their legs over the bed. They stand slowly but find it not as difficult as they were expecting for their legs to hold their weight. 

A second surprising thing is that sometime when they were asleep, the IV was taken out. Jet catches onto their confusion and offeres them a lopsided smile.  
“Benz checked up on us earlier ‘n took the IV out. You’re able ‘t eat and stuff now so you really don’t need it.”  
Fucking finally then. 

Having to be connected to that stupid thing made them feel fragile, like some sickly kid. They’ve managed just fine for years without having to be hooked up to one of those machines and to be finally off of it feels fucking amazing.

The only thing is the wheelchair Jet is so kindly holding steady for them, waiting on them to get back in so he can push them to dinner.

Yeah, you know what? Fuck that. 

Poison steps away from the bed a little, just as a test. They must be stronger than they thought because it’s barely any trouble at all. Grinning, they look away from their socked feet and up to Jet.

“No,” he says instantly, probably reading their mind.

They take another step forward, just to prove their point.

“I’ve got th’ stupid fuckin’ bandana on Jet. Let me walk. It’ll be less obvious who I am that way.”

Poison can see him mentally debating it, how he looks between them and the chair over and over again.  
“But,” he begins uncertainly. “But are you sure you’re up for walkin’? Party you might be feeling okay now but the cafeteria is pretty far away.”

He’s called them Party like eight freaking times today and yeah the concern is nice- because that’s the only time they let people use the first part of their name- but they have to do this. They can’t explain it more than that. 

Poison just has to do this one little thing. Just to prove that they can.

“Please Jet. Let me do this.”

They hate how quiet and rough their voice is, but it seems to get their point across. Jet sighs deeply and moves the chair out of their way.

“If you start getting tired, fucking tell me. Because if you over do it and pass out on me I will fuckin’ tie your ass to that chair until I decide you’re better enough ‘t not use it. Understood?”

Nodding quickly and trying to hide the smile that’s blooming on their face- because they actually convinced him! - Poison walks carefully to the door.

They can still feel that lingering weakness that’s weighing them down but it’s manageable, nothing they can’t handle. Jet watches them carefully but he does smile proudly at them when they make it to the door.

“What?” they question, unable to hide their own smile.

“It’s just really fuckin’ good to see you walkin’ again.”

They can’t help but to agree. Things aren’t fine- are nowhere near fine- but somehow, Poison feels like they’re getting there. 

They’d managed to sleep without any nightmares and they’re walking on their own. That’s fucking progress if they’ve ever seen it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've enjoyed, it'd mean the world to me if you left a comment or kudos letting me know! I thrive off of feedback and I love hearing from you all! <3


	7. Keep the Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
* underage ~details on that in the author notes  
*implied/referenced sex  
* unnamed character (s) death  
*bombs/ explosions  
*anxiety
> 
> IMPORTANT:  
\- edit 12-23-19: I found a continuity eror on Jet Star's age. Earlier in chapter 3 I mentioned that he was only a few months older than Poison but I mentioned him being Years older in this chapter. So I've fixed that and stayed with him being 21. Sorry for the multiple edits on this chapter. Last week was rough and I guess I just didn't read over things as closely as I usually do. Because this is a major change, I'm re-uploading this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy day of the concert guys?  
How we all feeling!
> 
> THE CHAPTER TAGS HAVE CHANGED MAJORLY!  
While figuring out the ages for the four for one of the scenes in this chapter, I realized that both Kobra and Ghoul are technically underage (under 18 which is the age of consent in the U.S. I believe) and are in relationship with people who are adults. So while the biggest gap is a 17 year old with a 21 year old, I wanted to assure you all that the relationships are consensual and healthy. But not everyone is okay with reading relationships such as those and so I wanted to officially mention that here and in the tags as a sort of warning. 
> 
> As always, I want to thank @pauladiazcruz for being my wonderful beta. She's amazing and deserves so much of the credit for these things! 
> 
> *Chapter title is from like 3 My Chem songs, at least 1 of Frank's solo ones, and originally a Bon Jovi reference that Frank has tattooed. So take your pick!*
> 
> EDIT: 12-23-19: The major character death inst until later chapters. So keep that in mind for the end of this chapter!

Kobra’s not quite sure why he and Ghoul are in the cafeteria a good thirty minutes early. It just sorta happened. And it’s not like either of them were actually getting any sleep anyway. They've both been a little too wired to get much rest.

He glances over to Ghoul, watching the way he sips slowly on the paper cup in his hands, his lips upturned in a barely-there smile. There’s something _close_ to coffee in his hands too- a hundred times closer than anything they’d manage to get in the desert that's for sure- and Ghoul is taking his time savoring his. Kobra, not so much. He’s inhaled his already. Not that he regrets it at all. __

_ _

_ _If he’s honest, Ghoul probably doesn’t remember how scarce something like coffee is but some part of him must because of how slowly he’s drinking it. And that makes Kobra want to laugh because there’s a full table along one of the far walls that’s _covered_ in coffee and tea.___ _

_ _ _ _

_ _ _The cafeteria makes Kobra realize how big the lobby really is. It hadn't felt that way when he was stuck in one of those bland rooms that he and the others have been staying in, but now that he’s out, he’s struggling to picture exactly how huge this place must be. The cafeteria, from the look of things, has got to be large enough to fit a couple hundred people. Easily. _ _ _

_ _ _ _

_ _ _And who knows how many people are actually down here._ _ _

_ _ _ _

_ _ _The cafeteria area is mostly a wide open room but there’s also rows upon rows of plastic folding tables, lined horizontally through the center of the room. Only one entrance though, a double door on the wall off to Kobra’s left. But there’s tables lining the other three walls too. One has food on it, things that look like snacks and small meals, likely for people who didn’t get there in time. The tables are bare but he’s assuming that the actual meals will be set out on those. _ _ _

_ _ _ _

_ _ _There’s a _real_ schedule here apparently, though it’s obviously not a very strict one.___ _ _

_ _ _ _

_ _ _Returning his attention back in front of him, Kobra attempts to keep his mind from wandering too much. He focuses on small things. Things like how pleasantly warm the cup in his hands is, despite being half empty, and how it warms the chill that’s settling over him from being down here. It’s strange to be cold so often, rather than just at night like it is back home. _ _ _

_ _ _ _

_ _ _He sighs, a mix of actually being relaxed and an attempt to stay relaxed._ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

After laying down for a while, he feels better. It’s still hard to wrap his head around what’s going on in the desert but it’s… it’s just getting slightly easier.

The pain isn’t any less, isn’t gone or anything, but he can think through it now at least. He’d had a bit of time to think earlier, to let the words sink in. 

A part of him is proud as hell that their apparent deaths weren’t worthless. They’ve made a difference in the world, _meant_ something to people. And that feeling almost washes out the rest of it. __

_ _

_ _Kobra doesn’t want to think too much about people dying for him. Though he can’t help but wonder how many have already died. How many people he never met, never knew their names… how many of them are dead?_ _

_ _

_ _The responsibility rests over him, not quite crushing but with enough force to where there's no way he can forget that it’s there._ _

_ _

_ _But he’s risked his life for people he’s never met, people he never _will_ meet. Hell, that’s what he does every single day.___ _

_ _ __ _ _

_ __ _

He and his crew put their own lives on the line so that The Girl and other kids, other innocent people, can have a chance at something better. Because there’s got to be something better than this. 

Some reality where kids won’t grow up with a blaster in their hands or pills down their throats. Another option, a third choice.

That’s what he fights for. 

And isn’t that what the rebels in the desert are doing right now?

Fighting because they too have seen too much, have watched too many people die and they’re tired of it. So they’re fighting back, risking their lives in the hope that somehow, someone will make enough noise for things to shift. For an actual future to be possible.

That’s exactly why Kobra doesn’t allow himself to be crushed by this news. He would have done the same thing, was already doing it. Fighting in the name of those who can’t.

So… Kobra takes a steadying breath, letting the exhale last long enough for his lungs to protest just a moment, before breathing in again normally. 

His gut reaction to all of this was bad and yeah, he’d never wish for people to put themselves at risk in his name, but it is their decision. He knows that. And so he can’t change it, or take any blame for it. 

If he could change things, make it to where no one would have to fight or die for a future they won’t live to see, then he would. In a heartbeat. 

But he can’t.

Ghoul coughs quietly, bringing Kobra’s attention back over to his best friend sitting beside him.

Just knowing that Ghoul _does_ have some memories was what Kobra now knows he needed desperately. Hearing him talk about something Kobra was too wasted to actually remember, it hurt. But it also was a very big piece settling back into place for him. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

It was proof that no matter how different Ghoul feels right now, that he still is _Ghoul_. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

And yeah, he does look different right now. 

Ghoul’s never been quiet or still, not like this anyway. Even when he was basically non-verbal towards the beginning, Ghoul made noise. A lot of it. He was constantly moving, constantly fiddling with something or piecing together random parts of junk to make equally random contraptions. He would grunt or make odd, quiet humming noises at the three of them. But above all, he was always moving. Ghoul doesn’t _do_ sitting still. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

But he’s quiet beside Kobra right now, staring intently into the rich brown coffee in his hands. Ghoul is very clearly thinking about something, Kobra can tell that much at least. Yet, not even his foot is bouncing. 

And like, also- Ghoul’s _always_ been dirty. It’s practically a personality trait at this point that he’s covered in sand and grime at all times. It takes a miracle to get him clean whenever he’s hurt and they gotta patch him up. Most of their time on those occasions is spent scrubbing him clean rather than bandaging his wounds. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Right now though, Ghoul is _clean_, his dark skin free of sand or blaster residue. His tattoos, which are normally hard to see through the layers of motor oil and dirt and _Witch knows_ what else, are vibrant and a dark black against his tanned skin. And what’s even stranger is that Ghoul actually looks _comfortable_ in the soft pants and baggy long sleeved shirt the Youngbloods provided for him. As if Kobra doesn’t want to rip off his own city clothes and tell them to shove it if they try and stop him. ______

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

He _needs_ the color, needs the strangely unique feel of his leather jacket around him. Kobra needs that annoying sand in his boots, in his hair and literally everywhere else. He even wishes he could feel the sun blistering down over him. Not like a Wavy, he’s not _that_ nuts. Not yet anyway. But more so that he’s gotten so used to things like the sand and the sun, that suddenly being without them feels weird. Wrong even. ____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

“What do you think they’re making for dinner?” Ghoul asks randomly.

He’s twisted around in his seat, peering across the room at the only other set of doors in the cafeteria like he’s expecting the food to come out any second. Ghoul’s never not hungry. At least that hasn’t changed. 

At first, Kobra had thought the far doors were another exit but with enough squinting he was able to read the plaque on the wall that labeled it the kitchen. He’s fairly certain that’s what it says anyway and he can just barely see the heads of a few people bustling about through the rectangular windows in the doors. They look busy and for how many people there seem to be here, they probably _are_ busy.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Dunno, prob’ly somethin’ good though. Hopefully warm.”

“You cold?” he asks Kobra, turning to face him instead now.

“Little bit. Not used to the draft ‘s all.”

Ghoul makes a face and Kobra can hear his foot tapping on the floor underneath the table. There’s a bit of concern hidden behind his curiosity, in the way he tries to subtly give Kobra a once over. His foot taps a bit louder and he even starts messing with a long strand of hair that's fallen down into his face. It’s dumb that just Ghoul fidgeting is enough to make him smile. But he doesn't fight it.

“Do you want some more?” Ghoul questions at last, looking down at Kobra’s cup.

He catches on a second later.

The coffee here may not be the best in the world- at least not compared to the real shit that Kobra’s only had maybe _twice_ in his whole life- but it’s hot so he finds himself nodding, and then sliding the cup over to Ghoul to go refill.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

He wonders distantly what The Girl would think of this place. She’s never known the City, a curse or a lucky break depending on who you asked. Kobra leans towards the latter. She never had to deal with pills and surveillance, with neighbors who would rat you out over the slightest thing. 

Then again though, girly also has never known a real, true bed before. They do what they can, giving her the best, warmest mattress and blankets. But it’s not the same. Kobra knows that. 

She always gets first ration, the best food they can get their hands on. There's been weeks where she's eaten but they've gone without. 

How can you ration a toddler's meals?

She’s never known a comfortable little house, with a doggy door and flowers- fake but they were still so pretty to Kobra as a child- on the kitchen island. Kobra doesn't remember much that can be considered “good” about living in the City but he does know that he never went hungry. He wasn’t shot at or nearly dead from dehydration almost once a week.

But that also doesn’t make the alternative any better.

Even so, he wishes The Girl could be here to enjoy this place. It’s safe, despite what happened earlier. It’s safer than anything they could ever promise her. 

She’d go to sleep in a _real_ bed, tucked in with blankets that weren’t older than she is. Kobra would be able to properly teach her to read and write, rather than the disorganized, impromptu lessons they try to do now. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

He smiles to himself with that thought. She’d been so happy the last time they’d had one of those lessons. Together they’d managed to write her name in the sand, her letters all different sizes and shapes, and barely legible. But it was her name and Kobra has honestly never felt more proud than he did at that moment.

He wishes they still had that old Polaroid camera that Poison found a few years back. So he could have captured her progress before he’d had to run his boot through the sand to erase it. Can’t have anyone knowing her name, can’t even risk leaving it in the sand for the next strong gust to destroy.

Kobra’s memory catches, reverses, and suddenly he’s thinking about that stupid old camera that his sibling loved so fucking much. There’s a wall of old pictures taken with that thing in the diner, strung up so carefully. It’s dangerous, leaving their faces out in the open and showing that they’re close. Practically a death wish if he’s honest. But coming home after a bad clap and seeing that crinkled, faded photo of Poison holding The Girl when she was just an infant… it just- it put things in perspective. Made it worth it.

The camera had ultimately gotten smashed the night they had to fight off a rival crew over the diner. Kobra’s got a scar on his hip from that fight, jagged and deep from the broken bottle that’d cut through him. It’d hurt like hell too but afterwards Jet had been so gentle cleaning him up… so _doting_ afterwards. He held his hand as he’d stitched Kobra up, letting him squeeze as tightly as he needed. And after, Jet carried Kobra to his mattress- even though he could walk just fine _thank you very much_\- and brought him everything he needed for the next few days so that he didn’t have to get up and risk tearing the stitches.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

“Here ya go.”

Ghoul slides the now refilled paper cup back in front of Kobra. It’s got just enough sugar and creamer in it, judging by the color at least, and Kobra feels his smile returning.

“Thanks G,” he says warmly.

As Ghoul sits back down and they wait, more people begin filing in. Subconsciously, Kobra pulls the beanie down further onto his head. He feels exposed sitting here like this, out in the open and one step away from blowing his cover. 

“You’re making yourself look even more suspicious,” Ghoul teases, bumping his shoulder against Kobra’s.

He rolls his eyes but does his best to stop fidgeting with the beanie. Jet had his jacket on earlier and no one noticed, so why can’t Kobra show his freaking hair?  
Logically he knows that Jet didn’t do so intentionally and that he’s probably not gonna wear the jacket to dinner because of all the people that will be here. Someone would notice if he did. 

More people pour into the room over the next few minutes, most chatting loudly to each other. There’s clearly crews, groups of people dressed similarly or with symbols displayed like The Youngbloods. But no one’s really sticking to that. People will yell and wave to someone they know, and then on occasion the person will get up and plop down beside their friend. 

There’s probably well over a hundred people in here now but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like a community. That’s the only word Kobra has for it. 

Everyone knows each other and while some people are eating quietly and sticking to their own crew, it doesn’t feel tense. Nothing like what would happen if you tried to get this many desert crews in one room together. Kobra’s certain that _that_ would only end in a firefight.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

With all of the chatter around them, Kobra doesn’t see or hear the door opening again. It’s not until Sandman and his crew come up to the table that he notices them at all. A couple people are beside them, other people from down here that Kobra doesn’t know.

Sandman talks to a slight, blond girl who seems to be just conversing rather than questioning him like Kobra half expected. No one seems pissed or even agitated at being called back, as if they trust Sandman and The Youngbloods enough to listen to this odd request.

But Kobra also knows he’s not seeing the whole picture of this situation either. Someone could easily have taken their complaints to Sandman or one of the other Youngbloods while Kobra and his crew were taking a breather earlier.

Stakes smiles at him and Ghoul after the girl and another tall, menacing looking person go off to their own table. As he sits down opposite to Kobra, Sandman just nods to them as something close to a grimace passes across his face. He looks slightly uncomfortable, of all things.

Kobra’s got a good idea why. 

He’d been an ass earlier when it’s clear now that Sandman was just trying to help them. Even though he probably could have done it in a better way. 

So, in an attempt to clear the air a bit and begin to make up for the things he said earlier, Kobra offers him a small smile. It’s nothing grand or over done, just a small, toothless smile. But Sandman visibly relaxes and shoots Stakes beside him a passing glance.

Kobra knows that glance. It’s the, I’m good, I promise. Don’t worry, look. He knows it because he gives it to Jet like _all the time_. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Evening,” Sandman says, smiling as Ghoul takes another long, careful sip of coffee. “Enjoying yourselves?”

Seeing as Ghoul’s a little busy inhaling his drink, Kobra answers. Though he does take a quick sip of his own beverage, quietly relishing in the warmth it brings yet again. It’s bitter and not that strong, but definitely good.

“Yeah. Haven't got stuff this good in a while,” he says.

“Good to hear.” Sandman nods and for a moment his eyes pass over the room, surveying the people he’s in charge of with a practiced ease.

Randomly, Kobra wonders how old he is. Before he can guess however, Sandman looks back to them and adds, “Benz and Phantom should be here in a sec.”

Kobra just nods, unsure as to when his sibling and boyfriend will be here too. Hopefully both of them were actually getting some rest beforehand. That whole meeting in the computer room probably took a toll on Poison and Kobra hopes they’ve been able to relax at least somewhat since then.

But, knowing them, they’ve probably blamed themself fucking six ways to Sunday for what happened. Jet’s good at reading them though, at saying just the right thing. So hopefully, these past few hours haven't been horrible for them. If anyone can make sure Poison is alright after something like this, it’s Jet. 

Kobra tries, god he tries. But he’s just not as good as his boyfriend is at talking Poison down from things like trying to take the blame for a mission gone wrong. Which, unfortunately, is something Jet has loads of experience doing.

Just a moment later, Benzedrine and Phantom come in and take their seats beside Sandman and Stakes. Benz sits down wordlessly, instantly resting his head in the palm of his hand. His clothes are obviously rumpled and his soft, strawberry blond hair looks a bit more of a mess than it did earlier. He looks tired and Kobra knows he’s responsible for some of that. 

Phantom does say hello though as he sits down on the other side of Stakes. He too does a brief once over of the room around them, eyes resting on each table in turn. With this many people down here, you can never be too safe.

“Looks like everyone’s in,” Phantom tells Sandman offhand.

“Yeah. No trouble for once. Mostly everyone’s seen how intense the City’s getting right now. They get it.”

After that, no one tries to pick the conversation back up. They’re just waiting on Jet and Poison. But each second that ticks by makes Kobra worry just a little bit more. Ghoul talks idly to The Youngbloods but Kobra can’t bring himself to follow along to whatever it is they’re talking about.

By the time it’s 10 minutes past when they said they’d meet here, Kobra’s ready to jump up and go find them. Something’s gone wrong, he’s sure of it. Either Poison’s gotten worse again or- or someone’s found them or-

Ghoul leans over, pressing a bit against Kobra’s side to gain his attention. His face is scrunched in worry, brows furrowed and eyes concerned when Kobra manages to look up at him. 

“They’re late,” he says by way of explanation, hoping that his worry isn’t extremely noticeable like he feels it is.

Before Ghoul can answer, Benz speaks up.

“The two of them were fine when I went in to check up on them about an hour ago. Poison’s doing much better and I actually took the IV out while they were sleeping. They might have just taken a wrong turn or something. It happens if you don’t know this place very well.”

Something by the door catches Kobra’s eyes and he forgets to answer Benz, not that he really had an answer in mind. Two people come in, seemingly unnoticed by everyone else in the room even as the door slams behind them. They’re moving slowly, one a good bit more hunched over than the other, and they’re both wearing similar, dull colors. Kobra’s not sure why he’s so curious watching these two people slowly make their way across the room, but he is. 

Squinting and cursing his terrible fucking eyesight, Kobra tries to make out who these people might be. Once they get closer, he’s able to take in the eye patch on the taller one- no leather jacket though- and the red and black bandanna that the other has carefully tied around their hair. 

And now Kobra knows who it is. 

The taller one is Jet, who looks to have a steadying hand on Poison’s back as they make it halfway across the room. And Poison looks too pale against the soft grey and browns of the sweatpants and t-shirt they’re wearing. Kobra wants to just blame it on the shitty lighting down here but he can also clearly see how Jet is guiding them over to the table for this final stretch across the room.

Poison is walking slowly but if you didn’t _know_ they were hurt you wouldn’t be able to tell. And that pisses Kobra off.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Poison shouldn’t be acting like they’re fine. If he had it his way they would still be in that bed, covers up to their fucking chin while he stood guard and made sure no one even got close to them. And that they didn’t get up until they were _fine_.__

_ _  
_  
_ _ _

For what it’s worth, Jet does shoot a small, apologetic smile his way. But it doesn’t change the fact that Kobra’s unable to take his eyes off of his sibling as Poison and Jet at last stop in front of the table.

Kobra swears Poison sways when Jet takes his hand off of their back but their face is calm, determined. As if they’re just _waiting_ on someone to tell them to get back in that chair.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

There’s that spark in their eyes, the blatant challenge for anyone to tell them what to do. Poison always has a reason for what they’re doing and they’re nowhere near as impulsive as people assume them to be. If they’re walking around like this, it’s for a good reason. Kobra could probably guess it if he tried. Something along the lines of feeling the need to _do_ something in order to keep moving and not let their guilt over what happened catch up with them.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And he gets it, he really does. But don’t they see that this is probably a very bad idea? If they fall or something- if Dracs manage to find them- if-

Jet sits down beside Kobra in a blur of movement, instantly scooting his own plastic chair closer and twisting to face him. He hears Poison shuffle over and sit clumsily down beside Ghoul, but there’s a dull ringing in his ears and an ache beginning to pull in his chest with each breath. He can’t focus on anything but that, on all of the different ways that this could go so horribly wrong.

Kobra can remember exactly what Poison looked like, all pale and weak as they lay unconscious in that bed for so long. How small they looked, how much he wishes he could have protected them. If he’d been faster, beaten Korse to them and shielded them from the laserfire. Maybe everything would have been different. 

Maybe they would have won. Maybe Poison wouldn’t be-

“Kobra,” Jet says carefully, yet with enough force to pull him back.

Blinking as he comes back into the present, Kobra is instantly aware of Jet watching him like he’s about to break at any second.

Embarrassment floods through him at the thought of The Youngbloods yet again seeing him get all emotional over nothing. He’s already acted like a child earlier and right now he’s not helping his case any. 

But before he can shake it off, assure himself that Poison’s an adult, their own person, and they can walk around if they want to, Jet’s pulling him in. He finds himself pressed firmly against Jet’s chest, his boyfriend's arms wrapping snugly around him and engulfing him in his scent.

Kobra can feel his face burning with embarrassment and the anger that he’s somehow only just now recognizing. But being against Jet like this, able to feel his steady heartbeat and the soft motion of his hands rubbing against his back, it makes it fade a bit.

Distantly, in the part of him not absolutely melting into a puddle against his boyfriend's chest, he’s still reminded of how close he got to losing his sibling, can see in vivid detail the exact moment they went down… But having his crew, having _Jet_, makes it a bit easier. He’s so warm against Kobra, warm and strong and exactly what he needed to chase the panic away.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

It’ll return, it always does, but until he can get it all off his chest later -most likely by venting to Jet because he’s honestly the best listener out of the crew- he’ll be fine.

And so he absolutely does _not_ melt further when Jet kisses the top of his head. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

It’s stupid, and domestic, and so fucking _soft_ that Kobra swears he’s now just a blond puddle of goop. Jet is always so good at this, at making him feel so loved and safe that he feels like his chest is going to burst from it. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

When Jet pulls away, Kobra has to stop the childish whine building in the back of his throat. His face instantly heats up with embarrassment when he realizes that everyone at the table just saw him like that. But, as he risks looking around while Jet wordlessly connects their hands - he’s got his annoying, all-knowing smile plastered on his face, obviously aware of exactly what he’s doing to Kobra- it seems like no one’s looking at them.

Ghoul’s back to staring into his coffee like it holds the secret to the universe or some shit and Poison is not very subtly watching him do so. They’ve got that tiny smile ghosting over their face, the one that they always get when they’re falling for Ghoul a little more. Poison has told him multiple times that he does the same thing when he’s watching Jet so, he doesn’t have much room to judge. Besides, it’s good to see his sibling so at ease.

They’re tired, that much he can tell right off the bat just by looking at them. Walking here clearly took a lot out of them but just like earlier, Kobra knows that if he said something now they’d just shrug him off.

So with Poison and Ghoul distracted, Kobra glances quickly over to the Youngbloods to see if they noticed his whole interaction with Jet just a second ago. But, it seems that while he was busy ya know, melting into that gooey puddle, The Youngbloods have taken to talking amongst themselves. He can’t quite hear what they’re talking about over the background noise around them but it seems not work related. Just four friends talking.

It feels weird to think of them like that but he knows that it’s true. They’re all clearly very close.

Sandman chuckles at something Stakes says, his eyes crinkling up. Even Benz looks more comfortable now as he talks softly to Phantom. Again Kobra feels bad for the shit that he said earlier, for being such a dick to the people who’ve quite literally saved his life. 

“Hey guys,” he blurts, horrified the instant everyone at the table stops talking and looks over to him. 

His face burns yet again as his thoughts slow to a crawl under the pressure of 7 pairs of eyes staring back at him. Kobra gulps and resolves himself to finishing what he impulsively started. 

Because he _does_ need to apologize.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“So uh… I just wanted to um- I acted like an asshole earlier and- and especially t’ you Benz.” No longer able to look at The Youngbloods, Kobra stares down at Jet’s hand intertwined with his, at the rough calluses he can feel that are so familiar. “And Sandman too, I- I should’a waited for you guys to explain.”

Jet squeezes his hand reassuringly, a soft look in his eyes when Kobra chances a look up to him, like he’s so proud of Kobra for doing this. Which absolutely makes him melt a little further. Not that he’s gonna admit to that or anything.

His heart feels like it’s going to explode as he waits on one of The Youngbloods to just say something. Waiting feels like torture. He just needs to know if he’s made them hate him forever, which he would completely understand if that were the case, or… or if maybe he hasn’t totally fucked things up yet.

“It’s already forgiven.”

Kobra looks up sharply at the sound of Benz’s voice, surprised by the very clear lack of anger in his tone.

“But I-”

“Dude,” Sandman says, leaning over seriously. “You didn’t know. I’d probably have reacted the same way. But like Bez said, you’re good. It’s forgiven.”

All Kobra can do is nod as relief washes over him in waves. Jet’s thumb begins to rub gently over the skin of his hand as the rest of the Youngbloods smile and agree. Even Phantom. He looks right at Kobra and smiles. It’s more weird than reassuring. Kobra’s never seen the dude smile, let alone at him. But it looks genuine.

“Thanks guys. I’ll try ‘n not freak out so fast next time.”

“That’s good to hear,” Phantom says, “We can talk business in a second. You four need to eat first.”

Kobra looks instinctively over to the tables lining the walls that he’d noticed earlier. Sometime during his apology, or maybe when Jet hugged him and made him all goopy, the food has been laid out. There’s lines of people at each table, holding plates and talking animatedly with each other. Some people are already eating at the tables around them. 

“Oh,” Kobra says quietly, only just realizing how hungry he is.

When was the last time he ate?

Only yesterday, or sometime close to yesterday. With no windows or sunlight down here, Kobra’s finding it hard to tell the days apart.

But he ate a little when he went to see Poison awake for the first time. He’d eaten a lot and he’s gone a hell of a lot longer on less. 

He follows the next person who passes their table with his eyes, trying to figure out what food they have on their plate. Noodles maybe? With sauce on top?

Kobra’s not sure but it smells fucking amazing. And besides, they’ve got _plenty_ here so no one else will go hungry if he gets a plate.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“I’ll get yours,” Jet says gently, leaning over to kiss him before disconnecting their hands and joining the nearest line. 

Kobra jerks his head as Poison starts to stand. Ghoul beats him to it, his hand on their shoulder, pushing them gently back into the seat before Kobra can even get a word out.

“I’ve got you,” Ghoul says with a chuckle.

Oddly enough, Poison doesn’t complain. They smile softly and Ghoul gets up to join Jet in line. 

Kobra manages to catch Poison’s gaze. They stare at him a moment, long enough for him to start to worry.

Poison raises their eyebrow, eyes flicking down to Kobra’s chest and back up in a silent question. Of course.

Jet hadn’t noticed yet, and if he did he hasn’t said anything. But leave it to Poison to start worrying over him when they look like death warmed up from just walking here.

Kobra nods once, no point in lying, and shrugs. 

Benz had taken the bandages off his wound a while ago- maybe a day or two? Kobra’s about two seconds from investing in a clock so he can figure out when the hell anything is down here. 

And so Kobra had taken it as safe enough to wear his binder again. He’s not dumb about it, only a few hours today as he gets back to being used to it. 

Poison squints, silently asking if he’s sure he’s okay. So he rolls his eyes lovingly and shrugs again. 

Satisfied now, Poison nods and scratches under their bandana a bit. They seem to be less pissed off now, a little easier. 

The bandana has been re-tied, most of their hair up in a hair tie now so they can show off more of the shaved parts. With those still being their natural color, Kobra doesn’t think it looks too suspicious. They could just be any rebel down here.

The dark red on the bandana is a bit risky but Kobra knows that’s a pointless fight he’d never win. Not that he’d try.

He thinks back to his jacket, laying meticulously folded on the chair in his room. He wasn’t the one to put it there, folding being something he purposely forgot from the City. But it’s been patched up pretty well from the laser beams that went through him. You’d barely be able to tell the new ones from the dozens of old patches littering the material. 

There was a reason he chose a red jacket, not a yellow one like everyone seems to think he should have. Yeah, his colors are yellow and black, but Poison’s is red. If he’s gonna risk his life every single day, he’s gonna have at least some part of his sibling with him at all times. 

Hence the bright red jacket.

He knows that Poison wears the yellow bandana on their leg for that same reason. Though they’ve never actually talked about that, it’s just sorta mutually agreed. 

“Kobes?’ Poison speaks up quietly.

He notices that The Youngbloods are back to just talking to each other. Benz and Phantom are laughing about something and Sandman is talking to a guard who’s come up just a second later.

With the noise around them, he can’t hear The Youngbloods’ normal volume conversation so he doesn’t even worry about anyone hearing Poison’s quiet words.

“Yeah?” he answers, twisting in his seat to face them.

They look down, fiddling with the little blue prayer beads they’ve wrapped around their wrists. Those are new, something Kobra is certain they weren’t wearing earlier. He’s glad Poison found them though. They’ll definitely all need the Witch’s luck in all of this.

“ ‘s that coffee?” they ask, pointing to the cup forgotten in his hands.

“Yeah. It’s not great but it’s not instant either.”

Poison looks down again, clearly debating saying something. Which sends alarm bells ringing in Kobra’s head because they never have a problem with telling him things. Unless it’s really bad. But even then, he always has been there for them and they typically come to him first.

“Could- could you maybe get me a cup?” Poison asks at last, shame coloring their cheeks a soft pink.

His heart breaks a little at that, at the fact that Poison would think he’s going to judge them for asking for help. 

“ ‘course P. Loads of sugar?” he prompts, attempting to put as much reassurance in his voice as possible.

He will not let them think he thinks any less of them over something like this. Thankfully, Poison relaxes and nods silently, mouthing a thank you as he stands.

________________________________________________________________

With all of the noise around him, Jet’s head is slowly starting to hurt.

It’s stayed in the manageable range so far, mostly just a dull ache that he can easily ignore. But it’s crossing into migraine territory right now.

He knows that it’s from his eye, the functioning one. It’s having to adjust to depth perception and a whole bunch of other shit Jet doesn’t have a name for. He’s straining it basically, and naturally, that’s gonna lead to headaches.

But there’s not much he can do about it.

Ghoul is right behind him in line, bouncing a little on his feet as they get closer to the food. He’s always hungry and it’s good to see him acting like himself again. 

“What kind of food do you think this is?” he asks Jet, pointing at a person’s plate as they pass.

Jet squints but he can’t get his eye to focus enough to make out what’s on the plate. His good eye never had the best eyesight and he only sorta wishes that it’d been the other one to get blown out. 

At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with terrible eyesight on top of only having one eye.

“Dunno,” he answers honestly. “Looks good though.”

Ghoul nods enthusiastically, clutching the two plates in his hand a little more tightly. 

He’d offered to get Poison’s food. And while Jet isn’t sure if it’s because he has at least some memory of their relationship -doubtful unfortunately- or just because that’s the kind of person Ghoul is, it makes some of the constant tension Jet’s feeling lessen slightly. 

He’s not been this stressed in a while. Kobra’s having a rough time dealing with all of this, something that Jet gets but just wishes he could fix more easily. He’d managed to calm Kobra down just a few minutes ago but it’s not always that easy, and he’s got a feeling that the worst is yet to come. And while it physically hurts him to see Kobra struggling so much recently, he also selfishly wishes he just had a day to relax. A day where he doesn’t have to worry about Kobra having a full on meltdown or Poison drowning in their guilt. Where he won’t have to stress over whether or not Ghoul will ever remember who they are. 

He knows that’s not possible. And he doesn’t really mind taking care of his crew, far from it really. He loves them, they’re all family, but he’s tired. And more than a little worn down. 

“Hey Mason?” Ghoul whispers, suddenly right by Jet’s side.

He’s in his blind spot and Jet can’t help how he jumps in surprise. 

“Sorry,” Ghoul is quick to apologize. “Sorry I just um… I wanted to ask you something before we sit back down.”

It’s Jet’s turn now to get food and he carefully picks the most healthy looking things he can. Kobra’s visibly lost weight since everything happened and Jet’s a little concerned about it. The Kid’s skinny enough as is. So he may or may not grab an extra little bread roll for his boyfriend.

Realizing he hasn’t answered Ghoul, Jet turns to him.

“What’s on your mind?”

He reaches over and grabs a spoonful of something mushy looking. It looks lumpy and gross but loads of people are getting some, so he assumes it’s good. He plops two scoops on Kobra’s plate and one and a half on his. 

“Um… Poison mostly. I remembered something about Kobra earlier…”

“Hey that’s amazing!” Jet says enthusiastically, unable to hide how freaking _good_ that is to hear.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Yeah… but I remember bits about you and Kobra, but nothing about Poison. And I’m- I dunno how to put it. I feel close to them. Like really close. But none of my memories are about them.”

Ghoul sounds broken, scared and confused, and Jet feels his heart constrict painfully. 

He doesn’t have an answer, nothing he can say will suddenly make Ghoul remember the person he’s been dating for years. Jet wishes there was something to make it alright with one word. As impossible as that would be.

“You remember that you’re close to them,” he says instead, choosing his words carefully. “Your body went through hell, Ghoul. You gotta remember that. It’ll take some time before you’re back ‘t how you were before. If at all. But there’s nothin’ wrong with you for not remembering. No one blames you.”

“What if I blame me?” 

Ghoul’s voice is a whisper, barely audible over the chatter around them. Jet’s heart subsequently breaks a little more. 

“It’s not your fault, what happened. No one’s at fault ‘sept Korse ‘n the City. Not you, not Kobra, and most definitely not Poison.”

“Do you really think I’ll get them all back?”

“Yes,” Jet says instantly. 

He doesn't know for sure, there’s no way for him to know for sure, but that’s what Ghoul needs to hear right now. 

“In time,” he adds, keeping his tone gentle and reassuring.

Ghoul pauses and turns to look at Poison across the room, and Jet follows his gaze. They’re at the table, holding a cup and talking easily to one of the Youngbloods. Kobra’s back is to he and Ghoul, but he looks to be joining in on the conversation as well.

They both appear to be more at ease than either of them have been in a while. 

“Can I ask something else?” Ghoul asks, breaking the silence between them.

Jet nods and grabs two sets of silverware from the plastic container at the end of the table and pauses to wait on Ghoul.

“Me and Poison… I feel like there’s something different between us. Does that make sense?”

Jet tilts his head, trying to figure out what Ghoul means by different. 

“Like,” Ghoul continues, “ Like I know Kobra’s my best friend. He’s like family ya know?” Jet nods, walking slowly to let him keep talking. “And you’re also like my best friend but I know I’d come to you for like… different reasons than I’d go to him.”

“You’ve called me a mom friend on many occasions if that helps.”

At that, Ghoul actually laughs. 

“Exactly. You’ll patch me up and shit, tell me I’m being dumb. But like Poison I- I dunno. It’s just different somehow. What kinda friend are they to me? If Kobra’s the brother and you’re the mom?”

Ghoul looks over at Jet with such a vulnerable expression. His eyes are wide and a little scared, his fingers tapping anxiously on one of the plates he’s holding. 

For a second, Jet doesn’t know what to say.

A part of him wants to tell Ghoul that he and Poison are dating. That they’re grossly in love and always pick the worst times to make out ‘n shit. He’s had to disinfect the AM way too many times- even though _he and Kobra_ follow the rule of no sex in the car. __

_ __ _

__

But Poison didn’t tell Ghoul for a reason. Jet’s not sure what that reason is but he’d be a horrible friend to go behind them like this.

It doesn’t make it any easier though to lie to Ghoul.

“You guys are super fuckin’ close,” he answers with a sigh. “Basically joined at the hip.”

Ghoul squints and looks at him sorta sideways, as if he can see right through Jet’s half truth. He’s already guilty and he’s not at all sure that he could continue to lie if Ghoul calls him out on this. 

“I know I care about them a lot,” Ghoul says gently, eyes far away like he’s trying to remember. “I’d do anything for them, just to see that real smile they hide so much.”

Jet nods because he knows. Ghoul sometimes was the only one to be able to make Poison smile when the weight of everything got to be too much.

They need him right now. 

But Ghoul doesn’t remember curling up in Poison’s lap in the midst of one of their worst anxiety attacks and clinging to them, peppering them in kisses and soft words until they stopped shaking, until they could breathe again.

“I’m trying to be there for them,” Ghoul continues as they get closer to the table. “To help them even though I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doin’ just fine. They appreciate everything you’re doing, I promise.”

Ghoul smiles softly and sits down beside Poison. They turn to face him instantly, face lighting up.

The moment Jet sits back down next to Kobra, he’s being pulled closer so that their shoulders and legs touch. Kobra connects their hands shyly and Jet’s not having him look so guilty for wanting affection. So he kisses him. 

It’s quick, just enough to let Kobra know that Jet is basically always down for any form of contact Kobra gives. He’d like to kiss him more, to do it properly where he can take his time and make sure Kobra knows exactly how much he loves him. But there’s people at the table with them so Jet has to be responsible. 

Sometimes he hates being the responsible one. 

As they eat in comfortable silence, The Youngbloods one by one go up to get their meals. Sandman goes last but when he sits back down he practically inhales his food. Stakes laughs aloud as Sandman misses his mouth because he turned to answer something Benz said.  
“How the hell did you miss that big ass mouth of yours?” Stakes teases, earning a threatening shake of Sandman’s fork.

Jet and Phantom make eye contact and he rolls his eyes at Jet as if to say “like children”. Jet stifles a laugh because he’s thought the same thing many times about his own crew.

“Hey, Kobra,” Ghoul says from the other side of Poison. 

Kobra looks up like a deer caught in headlights, his fork halfway to his mouth.

“You think I could fit this whole roll in my mouth?”

Jet has to stop himself from rolling his eyes but he and Phantom do share another look. This one with Jet being like “mine are just as bad”. But then again, Ghoul is closest to an actual child so Jet really shouldn’t be surprised.

“Nope,” Kobra deadpans, finally taking a bite of his mushy things that Jet got him.

Potatoes, he thinks. But Jet’s still not a hundred percent sure. He’s never had potatoes before but they taste like people have told him potatoes taste like.

“Too late. I’m already doing it.”

And then Ghoul shoves the whole roll in his mouth. When he grins in triumph, Jet gets a nasty look at the mushed up bread in his mouth. 

“Ghoul,” Jet speaks up, using his “mom” voice as Poison so nicely dubbed it. “Either swallow that or spit it out. You’re gonna choke.”

Ghoul whines but listens and slowly manages to get all the bread down. He takes a long drink of his coffee but he’s grinning so Jet knows he has no shame. 

“At least _try _and act your age,” Jet chides, barely able to keep himself from laughing. It feels good to have to get on Ghoul for acting like he’s The Girl’s age. It’s normal and something he definitely didn’t think he’d miss. __

_ _“ That’s hard to do when I have no clue how old I am,” Ghoul counters with a smirk._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

Now Jet does roll his eyes, because that response is nothing new. Ghoul has no clue how old he is, even before his memory loss, but Jet figures he’s a little younger than Kobra. Though that doesn’t help much because Kobra also doesn’t know how old he is.

“So if I’m being too nosy just tell me,” Stakes says with a wave of his hand. “But like, how old _are_ you guys?”__

All three of them look at Jet. The assholes.

He’s the only one who tries to keep up with ages and dates, using the moon and stars to keep a pretty accurate estimate in an old notebook he found ages ago.

“I’m 21. Poison’s about 21 too ‘s far as I can guess. Kobes ‘s somewhere around 17 and I think Ghoul’s closer to 16. But that’s just guessing for them,” he gestures to his crew. “Hard to keep track ya know?”

“Wait-” Benz interrupts, sitting forward in his seat. “You don’t even remember like birthdays or anything?”

Jet looks to Poison for that one. They and Kobra were the only ones who actually had a set date for when they were born- even though they don’t remember it anymore. If they don’t want Jet sharing that part to the Youngbloods, he’d totally understand. But they nod and motion for him to continue.

“I was born in the desert. So like- I know it was wintertime but actual dates are harder to keep track of. So each winter I count as another year. It’s December now so I just turned 21. Poison ‘n Kobra had birthdays but forgot them after escaping the City.”

“Kobra’s was sometime in the fall. I remember ‘cause I got to miss school the day he was born,” Poison adds softly, their tone far away. 

Kobra reaches over and squeezes their hand, and they have one of those silent conversations while Jet continues.

“Ghoul’s been in the desert a long time. Most’a his life. But ‘cause he was so young gettin’ out, he never really remembered when he was born.”

“That’s…” Benz sighs and shakes his head. “That’s horrible. That you don’t even know how old you are…”

“You can thank the City.” 

“ ‘s that mean you guys do remember yours?” Poison speaks up, though their voice is beginning to crack a bit at the continued use. 

“Yeah. We know almost down to the second ‘cause the City basically enforces that we do. It’s one of the ways they keep track of us.”

“How old are _you_?” Kobra asks innocently. __

_ _Benz smiles, like he knew Kobra was going to ask that._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Old,” he says smugly. “I’m the youngest and I’m 40.”

Kobra’s eyes go wide at that but Sandman is already continuing after Benz.

“I’m old as fuck, 45 this month. Stakes is 41 and Phantom is closer to 45 than 44.”

Phantom glares playfully at Sandman but doesn’t correct him.

The Youngbloods are almost twice his age. And they don’t even look as old as they are.

In the desert people stop counting age after their 20’s- if they ever counted in the first place. Old age just isn’t a thing out there.

Doc is the oldest person Jet’s ever met and he’s probably only in his early 50’s. But he looks decades older than The Youngbloods.

“So, I hate to break up our 20 questions,” Phantom says fondly, just a hint of seriousness breaking through. “But we should really go over our plans.”

Sandman nods, his serious expression returning as well before he answers.

“With everyone back on base, we need to start mapping out the new routes the dracs are taking. We can sustain everyone here for about a week before we need to go on a supply run. I’d like to have everything mapped out before that point.”

“How are you gonna map it out? The radio waves like before?” Jet asks.

“Yeah. Basically. We can listen in and try and figure out routes and times. Take note of shift changes and things like that. It took years for us to get all of it down last time. But that was _before_ I had so many people down here. My team now works to keep everything updated with the minor changes we’ve come to expect. They’re a bit overwhelmed at the moment trying to figure out the entirely new, chaotic pattern the Dracs and ‘crows are taking. But the _problem_ is that we need people topside to make it all work out. That’s how we’ve managed for so long”  
“Why?” Poison cuts him off with a narrowed look.____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

“What they say on the radios and what actually happens varies. We can hear what they’re saying but we won’t know exact times and things like that because they’re unfortunately not dumb enough to broadcast those.”

“And that’s where you four come in. If you want of course,” Stakes adds with a jerk of his head towards the four of them.

There is absolutely no way in _Hell_ that Jet is allowing anyone in his crew to go into the City. Stakes is fucking _insane_ if he thinks that any of them are ready for something like that. ____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

“Not like that,” Sandman amends quickly, eyeing Stakes a little before turning back to face Kobra. “We wouldn’t ask you to go back into the City. Especially not right now. What we meant was, that I know Kobra is fucking killer with tech. Having him work on things with my team down in Control would help this move so much more smoothly while myself and Phantom go above ground.”

Kobra takes a long moment to answer, clearly thinking it over. He glances to Jet, just briefly, asking what he thinks. 

Jet doesn’t mind that plan. It sounds about as safe as he’s gonna get all things considered. And Sandman is right, Kobra’s fucking _insanely_ smart with anything technology wise. He’d probably be able to do the whole thing by himself honestly. But it’s his decision, his help that the Youngbloods need. So Jet’s holds his breath as he waits on Kobra to answer. At last, with a shallow breath of his own, Kobra looks once towards his sibling, and after one of those wordless conversations, turns to Sandman and nods sharply.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good, thank you,” Sandman replies with far more sincerity than Jet was expecting. “If you three want as well, we could greatly use your help in this. The faster we get everything under control again, the less we risk the dracs finding one of our entrances.”

Now, Jet looks over to Poison. It’s their decision. 

They wanted a break from the fighting, a chance to recover before jumping back into all of this again. And they look torn by Sandman’s offer as they visibly debate their answer. 

A low rumbling catches Jet’s attention. It’s quiet, over in just a second, and no one else seems to have noticed. After a brief moment of curiosity, he returns his attention back to Poison, noticing how they’re still quiet and trying to decide.

“It won’t be anything dangerous or intense. I know you’re all still healing,” Sandman adds, looking at Poison a little worriedly.

They look lost in their head again, caught up in whatever is going through their head. Knowing them, it’s nothing good and Jet finds himself worrying instantly. Earlier today was bad and for a moment there… it almost sounded like they were giving up. He’s never seen Poison so broken before, so worn down by everything. 

It scared him.

He’s seen them low before, too many times if he’s honest, but that was the most terrifying. Hands down.

The rumbling returns, this time loud enough to make the table shake underneath him. Some dust begins to fall from the ceiling, causing everyone in the room to look up.

Confused now, Jet glances suspiciously to Sandman. But he and the others in his crew look just as confused. The cafeteria door opens loudly as it hits the wall behind it forcefully. Three guards rush inside, making a beeline to the table they’re sitting at.

Sandman turns with a grave expression to meet the guards. As the the rumbling begins again, closer, louder, it feels like every eye in the room is on them. 

“Mr. Sandman,” Says one of the guards hurriedly, out of breath like they ran here. “We need you in the control room now!”

“What’s going on?”

The guard shifts on their feet and glances to one of the others beside them.The three of them share an anxious look but it’s the second one that answers.

“The City... it’s taken some uh… _drastic_ measures.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Sandman’s face twists into a mix of confusion and concern. 

The room around them starts to shake yet again, more dust falling from the ceiling as the rumbling gets the loudest it’s been.

Kobra grabs Jet’s arm so tight it hurts and he’s sure bruises are already forming as the shaking slowly comes to a stop. He doesn’t let go and Jet doesn’t even think of pulling away from him. 

“What are they doing?” Sandman asks the guards carefully. 

Around them people are starting to stand, abandoning their food in favor of returning to their crew members and drawing their weapons.  
The City’s found them. They’ve found the Underground and they know that The Four are still alive. The government is going to barge in and kill them all, properly this time. They won’t make the same mistakes they did last time.

“Bombs.” the third guard relays in a horrified whisper. “They’re- they’re bombing inside the walls!” 

Sandman curses loudly before standing abruptly and patting his thigh where his gun rests. The rest of his crew stands too and before Jet can really process those words, he’s following The Youngbloods and the guards out of the room and down the hallway. 

Kobra’s grip on his arm is actually painful now and slowly- _too slowly_\- Jet remembers that he’s seen bombs like this before. There was a point years ago when the City made an example of a district that wouldn’t conform to the new laws it put in place. The people there had adamantly refused to take the pills and refused to allow Better Living to set up surveillance in their homes and shops. So the government bombed them until there was nothing but rubble left. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

That’s when the last of the rebelling neighborhoods fell into line with the rest of the City. Kobra once told him that he and Poison had lived right beside that district. They’d felt the shock wave of the bombs, smelled the ash for months afterwards. 

He told Jet they turned the now flattened district into a park. 

The memory makes Jet sick to his stomach.

He doesn’t have time though to stop and try and comfort Kobra, or Poison- surely they’re just as affected by this as he is. Poison and Ghoul are right behind them. He can hear them stumbling and Ghoul’s shocked huffs as he rushes to catch them. Jet doesn’t have time to stop for them either. As if on autopilot, he feels half-drunk as he follows the Youngbloods down and into the control room.

It’s a chaotic mess inside, people running about and shouting incomprehensible instructions that just seem to bounce off of Jet. He only barely notices how all of the screens are on, each one depicting a different neighborhood in the City. There’s fire everywhere, nearly every screen burning a bright orange against the dark nighttime sky. More bombs drop, Jet able to feel the shake as well as watch the destruction live through the cameras still producing video.But some cameras fade to static with each new rumble and he tries to not think of the people who must live in those dark apartment buildings that were just on screen.

But Jet can’t take his eyes off the screens, can’t hear anything Sandman is saying to the people in the control room. People are still shouting, talking above one another and running about. He can’t focus on that though.

One screen in particular Jet can’t look away from. It’s a simple front doorstep that leads into an apartment building. There’s two plants potted on each side of the steps leading up, green and fake. But there’s a light on, on that first floor. He can see inside, can see the shapes of those inside as they peer through the curtains. Jet can see the smoke and fire just on the edge of the screen. When another bomb drops, shaking the ground under his own feet as well, Jet watches the family rush from the windows. He can’t look away as the next bomb hits. 

There’s a flash of yellow and red covering that entire screen, and the shaking nearly makes him lose his balance. But what has him stumbling backwards, losing his footing even as he still can’t look away is the sharp static of the screen as the signal is lost completely.

“Jet?”  
It’s Kobra’s voice, broken and scared that pulls him back into his own body. Pushing aside his own horror, he quickly wraps an arm around Kobra’s waist and pulls him as close to him as he can. He’s shaking too but he’s watching the screens with that calculated eye Jet knows so well.

He’s analyzing the bombs, looking for a pattern.

When he manages to pull his eyes away- subtly wiping the unwanted tears that are pricking his eyes away- Jet notices that beside them, Ghoul has managed to get Poison into a spare chair. They’re clearly shaking too but there’s more outrage in their eyes than anything else as they too stare at the screens.

“Who are they hitting?” Sandman demands quickly, addressing the whole room in a loud, booming voice.

“We can't tell. It appears random,” answers one of the people at the computers.

Sandman curses again. Another round of shaking begins, one of the bombs most likely having been dropped nearby on the surface. Everyone holds on to something as the rumbling subsides. Jet holds onto Kobra and Ghoul onto Poison’s chair. The moment the shaking is over Phantom comes up beside Kobra.

“Do you see a pattern?” He asks sharply.

Apparently Kobra’s knack for things like this proceeds him because clearly, Phantom knows how skilled he is. He wouldn’t be asking if not.

“Yes,” Kobra says under his breath, pulling Jet forward as he walks closer to the screens. “They’re hitting the poorer districts, ones where compliance is more lax. That’s where all the riots are, aren't they?”

Sandman nods mutely, watching Kobra with wide eyes as he furrows his brows and glances back to the screens.

“You got a map?” 

Someone rushes to get Kobra an old paper map of the City. Once it’s set on the center table, Jet can’t help but stare at how the detail on it is so accurate. He ends up missing the first bits of conversation as Kobra starts asking questions in rapid fire and everyone else in the room struggles to keep up. 

As one of the guards answers Kobra’s latest question, Jet watches as his eyes go wide. He’s figured it out then.

“Okay,” Kobra says lowly as he leans over the table and points to the bottom left hand corner of the city map. It has seemingly random red lines drawn down quite a few streets, two or three of those lines ending in harsh red circles. “So this is where that bomb landed.” he gestures in reference to one of the screens. 

In quick succession he points out five other spots where the bombs have just landed, circling them with a black marker that someone hands him. 

Once he’s done, he steps back and Jet instinctively moves to stand closer beside him. 

“That’s all of the poorest communities, so, hopefully, that’s the last of the bombs,” he says quietly, uncertainty wavering his conviction. 

“Sirs?” one of the people at the screens calls, prompting all of them to turn and face her. “The bombings aren’t over.”

“What do you mean?”

Sandman’s voice is cold, harsh but Jet knows it’s not directed to this woman.

“We just got this feed from one of ours in the zones.”

As Phantom comes to stand beside Jet and Kobra to get a better look, the woman plays the video on the middle four screens. The image is bigger, the detail a bit more clear.

Jet is instantly able to make out the border into Zone 5. If he squints, he can actually see the beginnings of Doc’s station. A horrible pit begins to grow in his gut but he’s unable to look away as the camera rolls. 

Watching the desert, seeing it so close but impossible to touch makes Jet’s heart constrict. He misses his home. More than anything else.

“This was their last check in. Timed 20 minutes ago,” explains the same guard as she types something and makes the video take up all of the monitors on the wall. 

No one answers her, everyone in the room stopped and staring. Jet catches a glimpse of something streaking across the darkened desert sky, a shocking orange against the black. He holds his breath, feeling as if he’s watching in slow motion. 

His blood runs cold and his heart stops beating all together as he belatedly realizes that the Girl is in Zone 5, holed up and assumed to be safe with Doc and Pony. Physically unable to look away, Jet’s heart explodes along with the bomb.

It falls just a little out of view of the camera. Some part of him realizes that it looks exactly like that old footage of the hydrogen bombs dropping during the Wars. Still he watches, completely numb as the shockwave shoots sand up miles into the sky, as it barrels towards the person filming.

It’s over in an instant. 

The feed goes dead and the static covers the screens. 

Zone 5 is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for the cliff hanger!  
Feel free to yell at me down in the comments!  
<


	8. And Though You Can See Me Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And if you stay, I would even wait all night/Or until my heart explodes/How long until we find our way/In the dark and out of harm?"  
~Summertime by My Chemical Romance~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
* panic attacks  
*talk of death/ mourning  
*some mild wound details  
*vague suicidal thoughts/ideas  
*the word "fuck" is used 20 times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
This chapter is a bit shorter than normal because I spent most of my week writing a holiday one-shot and I've not had very long to work on this. But that's alright. This one is packed full of some very important plot things. So hopefully that'll make up for how short it is!
> 
> Thank you to @pauladiazcruz for beta-ing this for me!!! <3
> 
> Okay, I hope you all enjoy!

Poison can’t feel anything.

It’s like all of the air has been knocked out of their lungs at once, as if every ounce of blood in their body drained in an instant. They feel cold, numb. 

The static of the screens is sharp yet quiet. They think it _should _ be making some sort of sound. Like those old tv’s used to when the signal was lost. That loud, jarring sound that can only be described as static. That’s what Poison thinks should be the sound coming from the computer screens on the wall.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

But no. Everything is completely, _deathly_ silent around them.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

They watch numbly as Kobra stumbles into Jet’s arms, how Jet pulls him close and holds the back of his head with one hand like you would a child. They can’t help but notice how Kobra is shaking horribly while Jet just stares at the screens with blank, unfocused eyes.

Ghoul beside them is quiet and they’re not even sure he knows what’s wrong.

This feels like the end, the final blow that sends you to the ground.

“Why would they bomb Five?” Sandman wonders aloud, his voice a fraction softer than usual.

It’s as if he knows the answer to his own question but is hoping that someone will answer anyway, that someone will prove him wrong. But this is real. It happened and no one answers Sandman, and Poison knows why.

They feel like they’re floating, their thoughts snapping into bright focus for a split second before fading out completely. It’s not enough for them to process, for them to begin to gain a grip onto what’s just happened, what they just watched.

They don’t feel anything. 

But they’re pretty sure that they should.

They don’t like this numbness, this hollow ache in their chest, like there’s a hole there where their heart is supposed to be. Like it’s been ripped out, imploding along with the bomb.

“Five is deserted,” Sandman presses on, his tone almost pleading as he looks to each of the Four in turn. As if he’s begging someone to tell him he’s wrong. “Why would Better Living bomb the middle of nowhere?”

It doesn’t look like anyone is going to answer him this time either.

Poison can only just manage to focus on breathing, on the rattle they can feel with each intake of breath. Their head is light, their heart pounding, but they still can’t feel anything. 

A hand slips into their own and they slowly look down at the fingers intertwining with theirs. It’s Ghoul’s hand, they can tell by the Frankenstein stitches that are tattooed along his wrist and the whites of the shrapnel scars along the back of his hand. He squeezes their hand, something that tugs against the endless icy numbness coursing through them.

“Jet,” snaps Phantom, though he sounds like he really _doesn’t_ know what’s just happened. “you guys gotta tell us what’s wrong. Five is completely deserted, why would Better Living bomb there? And why do you all look like someone’s just died?”__

_ _ “The Girl. She is in Five.”_ _

_ _ Poison doesn’t realize they’ve spoken aloud until every head turns to them. Images and memories threaten to rise to the surface, threatening to suffocate them with the weight of what they’ve just witnessed. With a strength they didn’t know they had, they push it back down. They bury every single non-objective thought that they have about what just happened._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

They have to. For the sake of their sanity, they can’t dwell on this.

Not right now. Not here.

“No,” Sandman whispers brokenly, looking at Poison with such sympathy and pain that they can’t stand it.

And Poison doesn't have an answer to that, doesn’t have anything to say in return because no amount of denying it will ever change that- that The Girl just- that-

No.

No they will _not_ do this here. They have to be strong; they can’t afford to break right now. Not like this.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Wait-” Jet says suddenly, his head jerking towards Sandman. “Fuckin’ _Witch_ I’m an idiot. Where’s your strongest radio?”__

_ _ No one moves, frozen still by the tone of Jet’s voice and the continuing static on the display screens._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Now,” he snaps lowly, something dark filtering into the command.

Sandman then hurries over to one of the computers along the table and types a few things in. Meanwhile, Stakes begins messing with a large radio sitting beside it on the table. The radio is _huge_, probably about twice as big as some of the biggest computer monitors in the room, and it has buttons and switches covering the entire control panel. It’s even bigger than Doctor Death’s radio equipment, Poison notices. There’s also a thick, red cord that runs from the back of the radio, up into the ceiling. And they know enough from hanging out with Kobra, that the cord means this thing is probably connected to a booster of some kind, which means they’d be able to reach damn near anywhere in the Zones.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

There’s rumors that Doc’s radio reaches beyond even the Radiation Belt out past Six. Though, no one’s ever gone out far enough and came back alive- or sane- enough to confirm or deny this.

But the radio here looks like it could give Doc’s a run for its money.

When Poison happens to glance over, Kobra’s already peering over Stakes shoulder at the radio, his eyes wide. He’d have a field day with that thing if they’d let him.

“Here,” Stakes instructs as he flips a switch and pulls the mic stand up to the edge of the table. “All you gotta do is put in the signal you want to call on.”

Jet doesn’t respond but Kobra nods for him, his eyes still wide in awe as he takes in the tech in front of them. It’s not until Jet begins to pull away from Kobra, his face set in hard stone as he leans towards the radio, that Kobra whimpers. The sound is a soft, heartbroken thing that shoots right through Poison like a laser beam.

Even through his interest in the tech, Kobra is clearly just as in shock with what’s happened as they are. For a second Kobra looks ashamed of the sound he made and he even steps away from Jet until they’re no longer touching at all. But then Jet’s face softens and he gently pulls Kobra into his side, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. Poison’s able to see the way their brother relaxes into the comfort Jet’s offering him and they feel that pang from earlier return.

Ghoul’s right beside them but he’s still not quite himself yet, and Poison doesn’t have anyone to hold them like that. They wonder if they’re technically even dating him any more. Is it still a relationship if the other person forgets they’re in a relationship at all?

The thought of that alone is enough to make Poison pull their hand out of Ghoul’s. He shoots them a confused look, one they can feel rather than see, but they keep their gaze firmly set on the radio and their brother. 

“Doc might’a known,” Jet tells only Kobra but his voice seems to carry through the room. “He listens to th’ waves and there’s a chance he knew beforehand.”

Kobra looks up very slowly, lifting his head from Jet’s shoulder, his expression carefully guarded. Poison’s own fight with keeping their emotions in check is beginning to lose ground.

They can feel the tightness in their chest, the slow progression of panic filling their veins as the desperate hope in Jet’s voice hits their very core. Because if he’s wrong, if Doc didn’t find out in time then- 

Ghoul moves a little closer and crouches down beside Poison’s chair. He reconnects their hands almost forcefully, gripping them so tight that it’s nearly painful. But it’s grounding, it’s proof that he still has something of his old self deep inside. He knows that Poison needs touch when they’re like this and he’s not letting them deny it. He still gets them, despite everything. 

Poison finds themself looking into Ghoul’s eyes, into the bright greens of his iris and how the harsh white of the overhead light makes the gold in them shine. He’s looking at them so tenderly, so full of concern and love that it takes their breath away. Because this is what they’re used to seeing in his eyes, that same emotion and gentleness they’ve grown so fond of. And yeah, unfortunately the concern is familiar as well, but they don’t mind it as much at the moment.

“Doc must have known ahead of time. I dunno how I know that, but I do. He knew what was going to happen so he got her out. She’s safe.” Ghoul’s voice is nothing more than a whisper, words spoken only to them. They watch as his eyes flicker downwards, down to their connected hands before he looks back up slowly, hesitantly. Then, far too quiet for anyone else but Poison to hear, “She has to be.”

And they don’t get a chance to answer before he’s turning back to face the radio, letting them soak in his words without the weight of needing to form an answer. But he’s right. Fuck… he’s right.

They’ve known Doc for ages. He’s bound to have figured this shit out ahead of time and gotten The Girl to safety. There’s a reason they trusted her life to him, a reason why they knew she’d be safe with him, should- _when_\- they get killed. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Run’aways ‘t the good doctor,” Jet says carefully into the mic as he half turns towards Poison and Ghoul.

Kobra shoots them a weary glance, frowning a little more when he looks at them. They’d like to give him a smile, or even just a nod, but it’s just too much at the moment. Too much is at stake. Should Doc not answer, their worst fears will be confirmed. 

There will be nothing that anyone can do. It’ll be over. 

This is eerily similar to when they’d woken up after The Girl was taken. They remember being in pain, bleeding into the sand as the gaping hole Korse put in their gut refused to close no matter how much pressure they put on it. But they’d stood anyway. They’d dragged themself to their feet and personally carried their crew back to the car.

It hadn’t hit them until later, until their wound was stitched and the others were cleaned up and asleep. But when it did. When it hit them that the Girl was gone… just _gone_. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

They don’t remember much after that realization. But they know that Jet found them the next morning, curled up underneath one of the diner’s tables. The grief had very nearly broken them but the second, the literal _second_ that Doc told them there was a chance she was still alive, all of that had faded. They had known what they had to do, what they were willing to sacrifice in order to get her back.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And they’d planned every single outcome down to the millisecond. And then they had walked right into Better Living HQ without any intention of leaving it without her. 

The silence surrounding them rings on and Poison knows they’re probably gripping Ghoul’s hand too tightly, but they can’t let go. If Doc doesn’t answer then that means she’s actually gone this time. And if that’s the case… Poison… they’re honestly not sure that they won’t be the next one gone. 

She’s damn near everything to them, to their crew. A small burning beacon of hope. A tiny amount of proof that maybe there _is_ some good left in the world, a chance that life can still be innocent and young. Without that, without that reason to keep fighting- to keep _breathing_\- Poison’s doesn’t know if they’re going to be able to go on. ____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

What would be the point?

“Nice ‘t hear yer voice Run’aways.”

Poison’s head snaps up the moment Doc’s voice comes through the radio, his voice instantly recognizable even through the slight static in the connection. Their heart feels as if it’s stopped in their chest and they end up coughing from the sharp, stinging breath that they barely manage to suck in. They realize belatedly that they’ve been holding their breath for far too long, too caught up in their grief to even think about something as inconsequential as breathing. They end up losing a precious few moments of Jet and Doc’s conversation as they wheeze and cough and _force_ the air back into their lungs. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“- eah we’re all still kickin’. Made some new friends that patched us up ‘n they’re givin’ us a place to stay,” Jet tells Doc as he notices the tension in the way Kobra’s standing and wraps an arm around his waist comfortingly.

“You don’t know how good that is to hear kid,” Doc tells them fondly, and Poison can practically see him shaking his head as he speaks. “Been too long since I heard ya’ll’s voices. But I can prob’ly figure why you’d be callin’ now of all times.”

Jet sighs and leans against the counter and runs his hand slowly down his face.

It’s not just normal exhaustion and they can feel that physical weight pressing against their mind, sapping their strength. Jet looks like he feels that same exhaustion, as if standing is requiring too much of his energy right now. 

Poison understands that.

“We saw the explosion.”

The way Jet says that, like he’s bone tired, like every ounce of energy was pulled out of him the moment that bomb dropped. And Poison feels the same. Their head is spinning from everything that’s going through their mind.

The entirety of Five is gone but apparently Doc got out?

They don’t even know how that’s possible, let alone why the government decided to bomb there of all places. But then, they also wonder if he has The Girl with him. 

Sure, in their original plan Doc was going to pick her up right outside HQ and they and the others were going to follow him back out into the desert. 

But that plan changed and they’ve all just been banking on Doc keeping his end of the plan.

Of course, if she _is_ with him, then is she hurt? __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Does she even know they’re _alive_?__

_ __ _

_ __ _

It’s too much to think about, too much to consider, and Poison can feel their heart rate increasing yet again. Just hearing Doc’s voice hasn’t answered any of their questions or dispelled any of their fears, if anything it’s only added _more_.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Figured you did,” Doc says roughly, sounding about as tired as Poison feels. “You know everyone’s saying’ you’re dead right? Jet I _saw_ you layin’ out on the car that day, still fucking _smokin’_.”____

_ _ _ “We got really fuckin’ lucky,” Jet tells him with a sigh. “but we’ve held out on contacting you ‘cause of the shit Better Livin’ ‘s pulling at the moment.”_ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

There’s a pause and Poison uses the short break to try and get a steady breath in. It doesn’t work very well, only really succeeds in making their throat burn. They’re starting to think that this is more than just their reaction to this conversation. Benz has told them to take it easy, that their throat is still shot to shi. They probably should’a listened, seeing as they just can’t seem to shake this lightheaded feeling. 

But it’s not like they can fix it now.

“I figured you weren’t ghosted,” Doc says with a humorless chuckle. “For what that’s worth. Made the broadcast though.”

So that’s why everyone thinks they’re dead. Or at least, the people in the desert.

Better Living’s news is often -_always_\- stretched and fake, so ‘joys in the desert don’t put that much stock in their day to day news updates. But Doctor death? He’s _trusted_, and for damn good reason too. ____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

So if he told everyone they were all dead, then people _believed_ that they’re dead.__

_ _ “I’m sorry Doc,” Jet apologizes in a strained tone, as if he feels _bad_ for putting Doc through this.___ _

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

A quick glance around the room tells Poison that no one else is really following the conversation, other than the four of them. Even Sandman and Phantom look completely lost. Though, Benz is currently inching his way towards Poison with a concerned look etched into his features, likely because of their cough earlier. They ignore him.

Instead, they focus on Doc’s voice, the familiarity of it and how much emotion is hidden just underneath. If you know where to look that is. 

People say that Doc is just a heartless ex-soldier who you can’t trust because of his time in the Wars. But those people have clearly never talked to Doc a day in their _life_. Because he’s saved Poison’s ass so many times that they’ve lost _count_. Doc’s given them all a place to stay when they’ve had nothing, _supplies_ when they've gone hungry.______

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

He’s taken care of them more than anyone else. And he does that for so many other ‘joys too.

In fact, most of Pony’s runs into the City are to get supplies so that Doc can help out anyone who needs it. And Pony travels the entire fucking desert on a _weekly_ basis, just to deliver those supplies.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Single handedly, Doc and his runners keep the desert running. Keep the ‘joys fighting. And yet no one really seems to know that it’s him. 

“Don’t you dare go apoligizin’ for shit that’s beyond your fuckin’ control kid. Yer still kickin’ and _that’s_ what matters.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And there’s that fatherly tone, one that always seems to be directed towards Jet. Then again, he’d known Doc before he met Poison and the others, and he’d introduced them to the doctor after his stay had become official.

“Yes sir,” Jet says with a fond smile, knowing full well how much Doc cares for the four of them.

Poison can see the moment he decides to ask the next question, to confirm whether Doc actually managed to get The Girl out or not. 

“Is this thing secure?” Jet asks first, as he spins around to face Stakes. 

“Yes. I built it myself. It’s basically unhackable on my end. Dunno about the other though; that’s out of my control.”

He nods and Poison can’t help but let some of the tension out. Doc’s lines are the most secure in the entire desert. No one can contact him if he doesn’t want them to. 

“Doc, The Girl, is she with you?”

“Yes,” comes the immediate reply. “She’s in th’ other room with Cola. Shaken up, but fine.”

Poison feels like their bones have dissolved completely, the last of the energy fading away as they sink further into their chair. Exhaustion crashes over them in waves but it’s drowned out by the spark of pure fucking _relief_ that ignites in their chest. They let their head fall into their free hand, their fingers covering their eyes as real tears begin to escape. Poison tries to fight it, to wait until they’re alone and not in a room full of people to do this, but it’s impossible. The warmth of the tears heats up their face and their hand quickly becomes soaked as they take a shuddering- yet impossibly relieved- breath.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Ghoul ends up wrapping his arm around their shoulder and they don’t fight his touch, even though they know that he’s probably not even sure what’s really going on.

“Thank the Witch,” Jet says aloud and it’s more of a prayer than an answer.

Poison doesn’t look up, can’t look up, but they can tell when Jet pauses, as if he’s slowly coming to a realization.

“Is she safe there?” he asks slowly, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“Jet, son, I-”

“Is she safe there,” he repeats, voice tight as he cuts Doc off.

“Not as much as I’d like, no. _Nowhere_ ’s safe though kid, you don’t know how fast shit’s hit the fan out here. I’m doin’ what I can.”__

_ _ “What zone are you in?” Jet demands quickly and Poison hears Doc’s sharp intake of breath._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Why?”

And as if a flip has been switched, Poison can suddenly see _exactly_ what Jet is thinking. Their head shoots up so fast that they damn near butt it against Ghoul’s. He moves back just in time to avoid getting hit. But they’re not focused on him.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” they demand in a low voice, one that even surprises them.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Jet turns around quickly, clearly surprised by the tone of their voice. He should know that they won’t fucking support this, that this is by far the _dumbest_ fucking plan that he’s ever had. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Getting her someplace safe.”

They hate the way he says that, like he’s explaining something to a child.

“By going back in the fucking _desert_?”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Yes. Poison she’d be safer here. We’d be able to look after her better.”

“But how the fuck do you plan to _get_ her here?” They insist, yanking their hand out of Ghoul’s and clambering to their feet.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Ghoul protests as he too stands, one arm holding onto their waist like they’re about to fall. But they’re entirely too fucking pissed to just sit down and let Jet do something like this.

Doesn’t he see that going back out there is _suicide_?__

_ __ _

_ __ _

There’s no way he’d make it.

“Only two of us have to go,” he says slowly. “That’a way the Dracs’ll have a harder time spotting us. We go in, get her, and get back here in 24 hours. At _most_.”__

_ _ Before Poison can begin pointing out the -many- flaws in Jet’s plan, Sandman steps forward and stands between them._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Who would go?” he asks Jet.

“Me and Kobra. We’re the one’s who’re the most healed.”

Blind panic fills Poison at the mention of their brother’s name. It washes away the anger in a tidal wave of nothing but pure fear.

They only _just_ nearly lost him. It’s not even been a fucking _month_ and Jet wants to drag him out into the desert again?____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Poison’s not saying this mission is impossible. But it’s _dangerous_. There’s a huge chance that whoever goes out there right now won’t come back.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

And they just _can’t_ stand the thought of Kobra not coming back. Or- or of Jet bleeding out in the sand.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

They just _can’t_.__

_ _  
_ _

The panic begins to take them, the room growing silent until nothing but a loud, piercing ringing fills their ears. They stumble but someone catches them.

Through the pounding of their heartbeat in their ears, they hear voices. Someone calling their name. But they only barely feel themself being eased back down into the chair.

Two hands come up to their face, one on either side. Warm and gentle.

They can hear their own ragged breathing, the muffled sound of someone talking to them. But there’s darkness gaining on the edges of their vision. Poison stares down into their lap, into the light grey of their sweats. They can see their hands, clenched so tightly that their knuckles are going white from the strain.

Fuck… they can’t breathe. Their chest feels like it’s being ripped open, torn to shreds with each time they desperately try and take a breath.

The hands on their face are removed but they can’t look away from their own lap. From the way the floor is swaying in front of their eyes.

As their vision fades to black, their mind drifting into nothingness, the only thing they’re able to see is their brother. They see him the day The Girl was taken, laid out in the sand with a deep, bleeding hole right below his ribs. 

That’s what is going to happen if he goes on this mission. He’s going to _die_ and Poison won’t be there to _save_ him and-____

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

A rush of consciousness hits them, making their head dizzy as their eyes shoot open. They’re looking up, head leaned back against the back of the chair, as Benzedrine secures something behind their head.

Another breathing mask.

Fucking _perfect_.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

They close their eyes against the stinging tears and take a shaky- but impossibly relieving- breath. The oxygen helps, makes that tearing ache in their lungs lessen until it’s barely there.

Poison’s body feels like lead as they open their eyes sometime later. It’s impossible to tell how long it’s been.

People stand around them, their crew and Benz. 

No one else is in the room though. Not even Sandman.

How long had this one lasted?

Kobra’s holding them up, they realize slowly. He’s squeezed into their chair with them, his arms around their middle and keeping them upright. It’s his shoulder they’ve got their head on. Not the back of the chair.

It takes more strength than they’d like to admit to turn their head towards Jet. He’s crouched beside them, one hand placed on their knee to ground them further.

“Party?” he asks quietly, his eyes searching them intently.

They manage a hum, though it makes their throat burn.

It’s a sharp pain, one they weren’t expecting. 

And then, just like that, they’re _back_.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Back against the wall, Korse’s face only inches from theirs. His gun deep into the skin of their neck. The smoke thick around them.

That blinding pain- the smoke choking them- the-

The- the lights and his smile and-

“Hey,” Kobra’s voice cuts through the memory, sending Poison crashing back into the moment yet again. “Hey, you gotta breathe okay? The mask doesn’t do shit if you hold your fuckin’ breath.”

Their brother is teasing but they can hear how scared he is. Because of them.

They’ve _scared_ him.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

But they try to do what he asks. To focus on their breathing and to purposely forget what happened that day.

“Party,” Jet says again, his hand reaching up to remove a strand of hair they hadn’t even noticed was in their eyes. “We gotta get the kid back. Kobra and I can do this. We’ve done solo missions before.”

They can’t speak, can barely keep their eyes open at this point, but they find themself nodding. Too exhausted to fight anymore.

“It’ll only be a day,” Kobra tells them, leaning his head forward to press against theirs. “We’ll stay in contact the _whole_ time and Doc’ll be talkin’ to you too. It’ll be as safe as can possibly be. I swear.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Tears sting their eyes and they look over to Jet once again.

“Okay,” they whisper, their voice beyond wrecked and their words barely making more than a rasp. “But don’t you fuckin’ _dare_ get yourselves killed.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

Jet nods seriously and then he’s leaning in, wrapping Kobra and Poison into a fierce hug. Ghoul joins a moment later, squeezing in on their other side.

They try and memorize this, the feel of their family hugging them like this. It’s not a goodbye. They won’t allow themself to think of it as a goodbye. For their own sanity.

But it feels like one anyway.

“I’ll protect him with my life,” Jet says under his breath, his head tilted up enough for Poison to look into his eyes.

They nod. It’s all they can do.

And now they’ve agreed, given them permission.

Jet pulls away first, then Ghoul. But Kobra stays in the chair with them, holding them tightly even though they can feel their strength already returning. The mask, as much as they hate it, really does help.

But eventually, they’re all going to have to leave this room. Poison’s probably going to be put on bed rest and Kobra and Jet will begin getting ready to leave.

Already, Poison doesn't want them to leave. They can’t stand the thought of either of them being in danger -not so soon. Not when they’re still not a hundred percent healed. 

But it’s for The Girl.

For the five year old kid who just escaped a fucking _bombing_. And that’s _after_ she watched every single one of them get gunned down.____

_ _ _ So they get it. They see where Jet is coming from, they understand why they have to do this. But it doesn’t erase the sinking feeling deep in their gut._ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

They won’t be able to live without them, without their family. And right now they might just lose three of them in one day. 

But the chance of having them all here again, everyone together and The Girl safe…

Fuck. As much as they hate to admit it, it’s _worth_ it.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed back is greatly appreciated! So please feel free to leave a comment or kudos! <3


	9. Cause I Don't Do Too Well On My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've got troubled thoughts/ and the self-esteem to match"  
~ What a catch, Donnie by fall out boy~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
* loads of cursing. Poison's pov will always end up with a lot of F bombs. I dunno why. This is your warning.  
*some more vague suicidal thoughts. I'm mentioning it just to be safe. But it's not really touched on in any depth in this chapter  
*Anxiety and PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!  
I hope everyone's had a good beginning to their year!  
New posting schedule will be talked about in the end notes!!
> 
> Also, important thing. I absolutely have to thank @i_like_to_wander_around-here on tumblr for being so supportive to me. I honestly am not the happiest with this chapter but she's helped me get it to the point where I'm ready to post it here. She's amazing and like I say every time, I wouldn't be able to do this without her!  
Also, also, I'm on tumblr @honestmouse20 ! If you ever wanna ask or talk to me about something to do with this fic privately, please don't hesitate to reach out to me through there!! <3 Or if you want, just come and say hi. I post a bunch of dangerdays things and I even give updates when this fic gets a new chapter!
> 
> *Chapter title is from 7 Minuets in Heaven by Fall Out Boy*

Everything starts to flow together the second they’ve given Kobra and Jet the go ahead. 

First Jet reaches over, wrapping his hand around their wrist and giving them a quick squeeze. It shocks them, actually causing them to startle and flinch. Though they're not sure why.

Poison’s still a bit too much in their head maybe, struggling a little to overcome the residual panic running through their veins. But Jet just smiles softly at them his eyes nothing but kind and reassuring, before he pulls away and goes over to the radio. He starts fumbling with the controls and soon he’s resuming his conversation with Doc. Poison wonders briefly if he’d ended the call just to calm them down. They _were_ making a scene. __

_ __ _

And yeah, with _every _pieceof themself, they hate the idea of their brother and best friend going out into the desert- in the middle of what very well might be the next goddamn war- but they also understand why this _has_ to happen. 

_ __ _

Once again caught up in their thoughts, they don’t really register that Benz is leading them out of the room until they’re already in the hallway. Koba and Ghoul follow them out, though Jet remains inside, talking to Doc about the details of the run. As they begin walking, Kobra sticks close to their side, as if they’re about to fall over at any second.

_ __ _

They’re not though, about to fall that is.

_ __ _

They’re _fine _but they also know that the others aren’t just going to take their word for it. Especially not with the worried glances Kobra keeps giving them when he thinks they’re not looking.

_ __ _

They may not be full panic mode right now like they were earlier, but leaving Jet in the control room to set up the times and locations for this run, it just makes that pit sink deeper into their stomach. 

_ __ _

Poison tries to assure themself that their crew is the best for a _reason _and that if anyone can pull this off, it’s gonna be Kobra and Jet. I mean, _hell_\- the four of them managed something that no other ‘joy has even _attempted_. They broke into the City, into Better Living’s most secure building, and actually fucking managed to_ survive _the whole thing.

_ __ _

As far as track records go, theirs is pretty fucking good.

_ __ _

But, once Poison reaches a little bit deeper into the details of exactly _how_ they managed to survive- which, if they’d been left to their own devices, they_ wouldn’t_ have- they realize just how fucking lucky they’ve all gotten.

_ __ _

They wrap their fingers around the smooth prayer beads on their wrist, letting the familiarity of it drive away the worst of their fears. That alongside the soft shuffle of the four of them making their way to wherever the hell Benz is taking them, it’s enough to keep them from spiraling again.

_ __ _

Poison trusts their crew, trust them with their _life_. With literally anything and everything. So they have to trust Jet and Kobra when they say that they can do this.

_ __ _

Because their crew has trusted _them_ when they’ve thought of something reckless and it ended up being the only way. 

_ __ _

Like the mission that lead them here. The others had followed them willingly into the City and without them Poison knows they would never have succeeded.

_ __ _

So, trust? … trust they can manage.

_ __ _

Kobra’s shoulder bumps into theirs, making their head jerk sharply to that side. He’s giving them that knowing look, clearly studying them for any sign that they’re not okay. Like he already knows what’s running through their head.

_ __ _

“How’re you doing? He asks with a lopsided smile, one that makes Poison mirror it unconsciously. 

_ __ _

It’s a simple question really, one they know they can answer honestly if they want to. But it’s not expected. Kobra would probably know the truth of how they’re feeling no matter what they tell him. 

_ __ _

And they’re thankful for that. 

_ __ _

In front, Benz makes a right at the intersection of the hallway and the three of them turn down the next expanse of hallway. Ghoul is just quietly following on their right side, his head down and hands in his pockets like he’s lost in his own head. It’s probably best to leave him be, let him sort out some things before they go and pester him about what he knows. But they get the feeling that Ghoul’s remembered something. That, or he _hasn’t_ remembered anything and he’s upset about it.

_ __ _

“Honestly?” they ask Kobra in a hoarse whisper, their throat still protesting against every attempt they make at speaking.

_ __ _

Which is starting to get really fucking annoying at this point. They’re _healed _now and Jet had even mentioned earlier on their way to the cafeteria that Benz was thinking of taking off their bandages today. 

_ __ _

They’re _better_ so why the hell does their voice just_ insist_ on sounding like it’s about two seconds from going out.

_ __ _

“Wouldn’t ask otherwise,” Kobra says, walking a bit closer now.

_ __ _

Poison sighs and tries to figure out how to put what they’re feeling into words. It’s difficult, especially since they’re not entirely sure how they’re feeling. There’s a lot of confusion bouncing around in their head, a lot of fear… they’re also just tired. But more than that, they’re scared. Scared that this run is going to end badly, that Kobra and Jet aren’t going to come back.

_ __ _

“Mostly…. I’m jus’... worried, I guess. Nearly lost you th’ other week and I honestly don’t think I’d be able to go through all of this again. Not ever. But definitely not so soon.”

_ __ _

“P,” Kobra chides, as if they’re telling him things he already knows. “ Me and Jet go on solo shit all the time. We’re a great fuckin’ team ‘n we’re gonna be extra fucking careful this time.”

_ __ _

Poison shakes their head, not really dismissing Kobra’s reassurances. More so that they’ve got an endless stream of half worries and doubts that they need to make sense of. 

_ __ _

Like they said, they do trust their crew. But they have no sway in how this will go. Poison can’t look out for them because _they_ won’t be out there with them. 

“I know that,” Poison says desperately. “And I know you two are more than strong enough for this but… I just- I just don’t know what I’d _do_ if you didn’t come back.”

_ __ _

The hallway turns slightly, making a faint right turn and continuing on at that angle as they continue their way down. They don’t pass any rooms for a while and Poison isn’t quite sure where they’re going. They’ve never been this way and they went down a different hallway than the one they know leads to the med wing. 

_ __ _

After a while of simply walking straight, they stop at a guard post of sorts. It’s just a hole in the wall with a piece of glass and a door separating it from the hallway. Five or six guards are inside and one of them has Benz wave his wrist to show his leather bracelet. After that, the guards motion them on and they’re back to walking. They notice that it’s a bit more busy in this hallway as they pass a few groups of people going both directions.

_ __ _

Kobra has yet to answer them, but they know that he’s heard what they’ve said and is processing it. He’s always good at reading their intended meaning when the proper words just won’t come.

_ __ _

Poison isn’t sure if they’d physically be able to mutter out that they’re afraid. Not right now, not with Benz and who knows how many others within earshot.

_ __ _

Anything more that they said will sound too much like a goodbye and they will refrain from doing anything of the sort until the _literal_ moment Kobra and Jet are leaving. 

_ __ _

They attempt to focus back on their walk. On the soft sound of their shoes against the concrete. It’s odd not wearing their boots, not hearing the thump of each step. Being unable to literally stomp around.

_ __ _

Not that they have the extra energy to just go stomping into places. They’re only just managing as is. And they can’t have been walking for any more than a handful of minutes. It feels like longer though, with the endless rows of lights overhead and the same bare looking stretches of hallways.

_ __ _

As they get farther away from the guard post, the hallway continues on in a straight stretch before it’s ending abruptly and they’re all of a sudden standing in a wide, open room. Looking around, Poison notices that there are doors along all of the walls except the one directly in front of them and when they manage a peek through the glass of one, they find that there’s only more hallways branching out from there. There’s people everywhere though, some dressed in the completely bland City clothes while some walk about with an arm full of only slightly brighter, less grey clothes that Poison is beginning to associate with the Lobby. Other people are in- _honest to the Witch-_ pajamas who just sorta mill about while looking groggy and half asleep. Some people are fully dressed in practical clothes like Sandman and the other Youngbloods, sturdy jeans and thick jackets along with the promise of a weapon hidden somewhere on them. 

_ __ _

A few other people are in comfortable clothes, baggy shirts and old looking jeans. These people are walking the slowest, just sort of leisurely greeting people they pass and stopping to talk as they please.

_ __ _

If this hallway was only as wide as all of the others that Poison has been through so far, it would simply be far too crowded to even walk through. But, as it is, the walls are far enough apart so that eight or nine people can easily walk side by side together, with high ceilings that just makes it feel like such a larger space. 

_ __ _

And Poison that much shorter. They’ve never been particularly tall, just sorta average, but they _feel_ short here. _Jet_ is short in comparison.

_ __ _

As they round yet another corner, Benz spins around to face the three of them. It’s the most energetic they’ve seen him and Poison can’t help but flinch.

_ __ _

They feel Kobra’s eyes on them again but Benz is already starting to speak.

_ __ _

“So,” he begins in a voice similar to the commentators they hear at Kobra’s races. “Since you’re all well on your way to being recovered, I figured it was about time for you to have your own places here. There’s more than enough rooms and the last hall is basically empty, so don’t even try and decline.”

_ __ _

He laughs and Poison feels a bit of their tension melting. This is almost like a home, a safe place for them. A place they can raise The Girl. It won’t be perfect but it _will _be better.

_ __ _

They love the desert, don’t get them wrong, but this place is beginning to grow on them. Poison wouldn’t mind living here, still helping out the rebellion but no longer being front and center.

_ __ _

“Does that mean that we’re gonna get our own rooms?” Kobra speaks up hesitantly. 

"Yeah, you can all share one of our bigger rooms or you can pair off.”

_ __ _

“And you’re sure there’s enough space for us to do that?” Poison clarifies, the thought of making other rebels loose a place to sleep makes them wary of just accepting_ two_ whole rooms.

_ __ _

Hell, before they got the diner the four of them mostly slept in the AM or, on lucky occasions, a shared hotel room. With finding the diner came small areas that they were privileged to claim as their own. Poison doesn’t really remember their room back in the City but they assume it was bland and boring just like the rest. But their space in the diner was their own. They have pictures of their crew on the walls, mostly the shitty turn outs of old polaroids, and their single possession they kept with them from the City. An old, ratty blanket that saved their and Kobra’s life when they first got out.

_ __ _

“Of course. Like I said, we have plenty of rooms.” 

"But you called everyone back in,” Kobra presses a little further as he takes a second glance around the crowded hallway.

_ __ _

Benz just nods and begins fiddling with the leather bracelet on his wrist. “That we did. But a lot of people don’t live here permanently. What we did was shut the doors, meaning that those who stay on base had to come back but the people who just pass through are currently back in their homes. In the City.” A clicking sound comes from Benz’s direction and Poison is confused up until he pulls a small walkie-talkie from under his coat. He holds up one finger to pause the conversation before turning the volume switch. Instantly Stakes voice comes through and for a moment Poison fears that something’s gone wrong. 

_ __ _

There’s nothing to worry about though as Stakes quickly informs Benz that he’s sending Jet down to meet with them. Benz just gives his affirmation and clips the walkie-talkie back onto his hip.

_ __ _

The look that the three of them are giving him must be comical because Benz just rolls his eyes and shrugs. 

_ __ _

“It’s the fastest and most reliable form of communication down here. Stakes modified them from these old pagers that we found when we were cleaning this place out. They buzz when someone's trying to talk to you.” 

"That’s really cool,” Kobra comments earnestly, clearly eyeing the tech.

_ __ _

“Yeah. When you get back I’ll get Stakes to show you some of his projects. I get the feeling that the two of you might have a lot in common and he might have something you can take with you tomorrow.” 

Kobra agrees sheepishly, something that he always seems to do whenever he’s accidentally shown more emotion or interest than he’s meant to. But it’s a good thing. It means that he’s getting more comfortable here. 

_ __ _

That’s important, that he’s getting along better with The Youngbloods. There’s a good chance that this might be where they’re going to stay. After they get The Girl that is.

_ __ _

“Alright,” Benz continues in his tour as he turns around and starts walking again. “So, your rooms are at the end of this hall. The system here is that for every three rooms, we have a corresponding bathroom.” He gestures to three rooms that they past next, numbers _110, 111, 112_, and then to the other side of the hallway where there’s another door across from the middle room. Beside that door is a little marker that lists the three room’s numbers.

_ __ _

“It’s nothing fancy and there’s public bathrooms scattered all over the place as well, but these bathrooms are where you can keep your things. Now, you’ve got pretty lucky, the third room in your sequence is unoccupied. So you’ll have the bathroom solely for the four of you.” 

"When we get the kid, can she have that third room or d’ you want us to bunk her with us?” Poison verifies quietly.

_ __ _

In other circumstances they’d be all but demanding an answer. But currently their voice barely comes out as a whisper and they even have to repeat themself because Benz hadn’t heard them the first time.

_ __ _

It’s not their fault, they protest to themself stubbornly. While the oxygen earlier helped them a lot in getting their breath back, and while they were also fine for most of the long walk down here, they’re beginning to get tired. They haven't walked this much since they’ve gotten here and they’re beginning to feel the strain that it’s putting on their still healing body. 

_ __ _

“Yes,” Benz answers. “She can have the room to herself if she likes. Or you can keep her with one of you. That’s up to you guys.”

_ __ _

No one answers and shortly they’re all coming to a stop at the end of the corridor. The hallway turns right after the last door, leading down to more rooms most likely. 

_ __ _

_141, 142, 143_ are the numbers placed on the wall beside the doors they’re standing in front of. And true to his word, there’s a bathroom door across the hall. 

_ __ _

“Here we are. Now, we do have people who come through and clean the rooms, sorta like at a hotel. But you have the option to do the cleaning yourselves as well.” 

“Will they go through our stuff?” Ghoul’s shy voice pops up.

_ __ _

Honest to the fucking Witch, Poison had forgotten that he was standing right beside them. He’s been so quiet since they left the control room that he’d just sorta faded into the background.

_ __ _

“Nope,” Benz replies with a shake of his head. “All they’d do is strip the sheets and take out the trash. That’s an every other day thing, if you want of course. And after a while you can hang a little sign on the door to ask them to do a deeper clean. Vacuuming and things like that.” 

“So like a hotel?” Ghoul repeats slowly, as if he’s already thinking of something else. 

“Yep. And the maids are all paid well and given their own, just as nice rooms. We’re not monsters you know.”

_ __ _

Kobra’s face scrunches and Poison already knows that he’s thinking through something that’s bothering him. 

“And what about our desert things? It’d )be pretty fuckin’ obvious who we are if someone’s cleanin’ and they see my blaster on the table. Or our masks or somethin’.”

_ __ _

“All of the rooms have storage, a closet and a dresser, along with a safe as well. You can store things there that you don’t want to be noticed,” he assures Kobra.

_ __ _

When no one else adds any questions, Benz produces three sets of keys from his lab jacket and hands each of them one of the rings. 

_ __ _

Poison studies the keys in their hands as Benz bids them goodbye and heads off back down the way they came. He assures them that he’ll see them again before Kobra and Ghoul leave. 

_ __ _

Focusing on the keyrings they’re holding, Poison notices how each of the keys are plain, a lightweight metal with the room number that they go to tapped on the widest part. It looks like they each got the key to all three rooms, which Poison is grateful for. 

_ __ _

“Alright,” Kobra starts slowly, looking over to them for confirmation. 

_ __ _

They somehow already know he’s asking about room assignments, who’s bunking with who. 

_ __ _

“You take 142 with Jet, I’ll keep Ghoul with me.”

“You sure?” 

_ __ _

They can hear the underlying question beneath that seemingly innocent one. Poison discretely looks over to Ghoul, only to find him blankly staring down at the smooth concrete floor beneath their feet. He looks completely lost in thought now, not even paying the slightest attention to the conversation going on around him.

_ __ _

Poison sorta envies him. Zoning out for a bit sounds fucking _heavenly_.

_ __ _

“Yes,” they answer a bit too quickly.

_ __ _

But they _are _sure. 

_ __ _

They don’t know why, but they need to be close to Ghoul right now. They’ve gone from spending nearly every waking moment with him, to a few spare hours here and there. And yeah, that’s neither of their faults, but Poison misses their boyfriend okay? What more is there to say than that?

_ __ _

They love him and they miss spending time with him.

_ __ _

Plus, if they did share a room with Kobra they would only be alone while he and Jet are on this run. And that’s absolutely not a good idea.

_ __ _

They’re barely managing to keep themself from straight up going _nuts_ under all of this stress. And that’s _with_ at least one of their crewmates by their side at all times. Poison hasn’t really been alone at all since they’ve woken up. They’d rather not try and see how well they would do now with no one to help drown out their thoughts. 

_ __ _

“Well… alright then,” Kobra says, uncertainty pouring off of him. “You ‘n Ghoulie try and get some rest okay? I’ll come and get you before we head out.”

_ __ _

With a quick nod, they go their separate ways. Kobra turns his key into door number 142 while Poison fumbles with the one to 141 but they manage to get it unlocked half a second after he does. By now their brother has already gone in and there’s the faint sound of him grunting as he falls onto the bed. They chuckle to themself and lead Ghoul inside.

_ __ _

It’s pretty bland, though not as badly as the one they’d had in the med wing. 

_ __ _

There’s a large bed- a real,_ proper _bed- in the middle, the head of it against the left wall. It’s huge, big enough to probably fit the _four_ of them if they’d tried. But it’s still more than enough room for them and Ghoul.

_ __ _

On the left wall, across from the bed, sits an ancient looking dresser. It’s wood is faded and dull, but it still looks to be all in one piece. There’s a door on the right side of the dresser that leads into the closet Benz mentioned most likely. On the wall directly across from them is a plain, wooden table with a matching chair. Underneath it sits a large, metal safe with an old combination lock.

_ __ _

“Whoa…” Ghoul mumbles under his breath, stepping past Poison to take a better look around.

_ __ _

But honestly, fancy things like desks and shit can wait. They’re fucking _tired_ and the bed is the only thing they care about right now. “I’m gonna sleep for a fuckin’ _month_,” they tell Ghoul in a groan, already slipping their shoes off and undoing their bandana. 

_ __ _

They don’t bother with anything else before they’re crawling underneath the sheets. These are a bit more worn than the ones in their previous room but Poison can’t care less. The sheets are _warm_ and soft and they find themself already drifting off the moment their head hits the- equally soft- pillows.

_ __ _

The bed dips a moment later and they crack one eye open blearily, noticing through their exhaustion that Ghoul’s flipped off the lights. He’s pulling off his short sleeved shirt, revealing the dark long sleeved one underneath that’s being used to cover his tattoos. Ghoul winces ever so slightly at the motion but he’s lowering himself down by their side before Poison has a chance to mention it.

_ __ _

Suddenly perfectly warm and with their boyfriend’s steady breaths in their ear, they begin to drift off again. They only just feel Ghoul’s arm as it hesitantly, _carefully_, comes to rest over their middle.

_ __ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you probably noticed, this chapter is a good bit shorter than most of my previous ones. The reason for this is because I've decided to update this fic twice a week (every four days so it won't fall on exact days of the week every week- if that makes sense?) My new writing/posting schedule is mostly because I graduated college back in December and I'm just sorta floating around for a while until I figure out what's next. Basically I have a lot of free time hahaha. So updates are gonna be more often but the chapters are only going to consist of one, maybe two, scenes. Probably 10-20 pages.  
Thanks for baring with my as I change update times so much! These past few months have been nuts.
> 
> also, this chapter is mostly world building about the Underground. If there's anything that you feel I've not explained clearly (or that I've just messed up on) please feel free to ask! I'll gladly answer any questions about the Underground or how it works either on here or on my tumblr!! @honestmouse20 
> 
> Also, also, I am so sorry for not interacting more in the author notes here. I said once, months ago, that the reason I write such long end notes is because I love talking about little details of the chapter that I want to share with you guys. Thought processes and explanations and the like. I've been slacking lately on this fic with doing that (I'm gonna blame the stress of trying to graduate hahaha) but from now on I'm going to do my best to leave you all with at least Some of my thoughts on this and future chapters!
> 
> That being said, I absolutely am Loving The Hell out of writing this fic. From the moment I finished the music videos I was itching for more content, thinking that that Can't be how it ends! The Four Can't be dead. But when I found the comics I discovered that yeah, in the mess of cannon material that we have, the Four are dead. Well that got me thinking of a scenario where they didn't die, where somehow, by some miracle they managed to live. So this fic has been in the works since then, since I sat down to watch the Na Na Na music video two summers ago. It just took me a while to build my interpretations of the characters and the world. because as much as it hurts having a cannon that doesn't add up, I love that it gives us the freedom to interpret however we want to. And I've gone through Tons of different personal head cannons about this universe.  
And finally, I've found a way for them to live. A way that I don't sob horrible if I just Think about the Sing video too much. Okay that's a lie, every time I watch it I cry like a baby but that's besides the point.  
Basically, this fic is something I've been waiting to write for literal ages. And now that I am writing it there's so much that I want to do, so much I want to explore in this universe and share with you guys, that there's no way I can get it done in any timely manor. Me and my amazing friend Wander have already decided that this one is going to be Long. Like possibly my longest yet.  
So, I'm strapped in for the ride and I hope that all of you lovely readers are ready too. It's gonna be a long ride but I assure you, it'll be worth it!


	10. And For The Last Night I Lie ( could i lie with you?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
*talk of death/dying  
*mild/graphic depictions of injuries  
*alcohol as a coping mechanism  
*implied/referenced sex (which is *technically* Underage but there's no detail and it is 100% consenting)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!  
This is the last chapter before Jet and Kobra head out into the desert to get The Girl so the tension really should be expected shouldn't it?  
As always, a huge thank you to @i_like_to_wander_around_here on tumblr for being such an amazing beta and an equally amazing friend!!  
Enjoy guys, and see you on Saturday!
> 
> *Chapter title is from The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You by My Chem. I just really love Revenge guys. *

With a frustrated groan, Kobra pries himself out of bed. His socks slide dangerously on the surprisingly slick floors but he manages to keep his balance as he stumbles towards the door.

He had only just gotten to sleep, only _just_ drifted off when the knocking began. Like whoever it is couldn’t let him sleep for _five _minutes. Was that too much to ask?

Even through his bitterness, Kobra knows that this could be important. Something could have happened and the others might need his and Jet’s help. So, he can’t just _ignore_ the person at the door and go back to sleep. 

No matter how much he wants to. 

Grunting at his stiff joints as he bends over, Kobra picks up a random shirt off the floor and throws it on. As he continues to move across the room, he blindly grabs a pair of pants from the floor as well- a darker pair that he recognizes as one of his own. Cursing quietly under his breath because he really doesn’t want to wake Jet, Kobra manages to get one leg in the jeans as he hops on the other towards the door.

Just as he gets the other leg in and buttons the jeans quickly, he makes it to the door. In one piece no less. A true miracle when his mind’s still all muddled with sleep.

He’s even got clothes on, a definite plus.

Poison would be proud. He’s answered the door in his underwear before. On accident of course.

When he finally manages to swing the door open, Kobra’s met with one of the Youngbloods, Stakes, smiling cheerily at him. As if he didn’t wake him from what was probably going to be the best nap of his life.

Stakes looks the same as every other time Kobra’s seen him. His thick, faded jeans are covered in what looks to be oil or grease of some kind while his dark grey shirt- which Kobra remembers had multiple holes in it- has been changed for a loose fitting dark blue button up. Though, Stakes’ hair is just as curly and wild as always. It gives Jet’s a run for his money, that’s for sure. The only difference, other than Jet’s being just a shade darker, is the length. Stakes’ hair doesn’t go past his ears and is styled more as an afro than simply falling naturally like Jet’s. But Kobra’s helped Jet try and fix his hair and that shit is _not_ an easy task. So he can understand why Stakes would want to keep his short and just let it poof up naturally. He’d probably do the same. 

If his own wasn’t stick straight and thin that is.

He likes it better half shaved anyway.

Jet snores loudly in the room behind him, the sound of shifting sheets as he turns over the only indication that he’s not _completely_ dead to the world.

“What?” Kobra demands, his voice rough from just being woken up.

_Sue_ him for not being happy about being woken up at whatever- the- fuck time it is right now. 

“Uh-” Stakes’ smile falters for a moment, as if he wasn’t expecting Kobra to be so rude. 

But that’s not _his_ problem. Stakes shouldn’t have bothered him when he knows that Kobra’s going to be using this time to sleep before they have to leave. Well, sleep _and _making sure that _if_ they do die tomorrow, he at least had one more night with Jet.

“What. Do you. Want?” Kobra repeats, honestly not even caring if he’s being a dick.

He just wants to go back to sleep dammit. Witch knows when he’s going to be able to sleep next.

“Uh… I wanted to make sure you guys got these.”

Stakes bends over and picks something up from the floor beside the door. Kobra recognizes it as his and Jet’s jackets, folded neatly in a pile with both of their rayguns sitting on top.

“Benz wanted me to just leave them outside your door but I uh… I dunno- figured it’d be better to hand them over to you.”

Kobra eyes him closely, trying to think through the fog of grogginess and see if he’d been _too _much of an asshole just a second ago. Because hand-delivering their things is actually a really _nice _thing to do- though he’s shocked that he was able to just _forget _about his things-and Kobra’s genuinely thankful Stakes has thought to do this. The thought of his blaster, of his fucking _jacket_ just _laying_ outside the door for anyone to see- for anyone to _take_, makes the hair on his arms raise. 

But Stakes doesn’t seem overly upset that Kobra snapped at him earlier, if anything he looks amused. So he decides to just chalk it up to testy desert rebel shit- or whatever all the Youngbloods think The Four’s problems are- and call it a day.

Gingerly, he takes their things when Stakes hands it to him. Truthfully, he’s already wondering if his holster was saved from the clap as well and also, how long it’s going to be before he’s able to put it on.

“Also,” Stakes says suddenly, as if he’d just remembered something. “Here.”

Kobra readjusts his hold on their things as Stakes presses something into his hand. As he does so, Stakes glances behind him like whatever it is, is a secret and he’s worried someone will see him hand it over. It takes Kobra a long, embarrassing moment to process what he’s holding. 

It’s the keys to the Trans-AM, the thin, twisted metal keyring a dead give away. That and the little Mousekat head figurine dangling from it. 

“I-”

“Yeah,” he says when it’s clear Kobra’s at a loss for words. “I don’t know if we ever told you guys but we brought your car with us when we picked you up. Figured you wouldn’t want the dracs crawling all over it. It’s up in the garage at th’ moment but I wanted to give you the keys before I forgot.”

Staring down at the keys in his palm, Kobra traces each scratch in the old keys. There’s two of them, a thing most of the older cars used to do in case one was lost or something. But they never separate the spare for fear of someone straight up stealing their car. Poison would probably throw a _fit_ if that happened. 

Though, Kobra’s not sure they’ve mentioned the AM even _once_ since they’ve been here. 

He’s never driven the car, something his sibling was _very_ adamant about for some reason. Every time he’d so much as _asked_, Poison had put their foot down and refused.

It’s not like he _can’t_ drive but yeah, he’s probably better with a bike than a steering wheel any day.

Actually, come to think of it, maybe Jet will let him drive on this run?

It’d be one hell of a shocker to Poison, to show them that he can actually fuckin’ drive the thing. 

Though, it’d probably be too dangerous. Given the situation and the stakes they’re up against. Seeing how protective Jet’s been lately, there’s no way he’s just gonna let Kobra get behind the wheel on this one.

It’s a shame though. He’d like to drive the fucking car _once_ in his lifetime.

“Yeah, slipped our minds to tell you. I just thought about it a bit ago, sorry ‘bout that,” Stakes continues, awkwardly running his hands through his hair.

And yeah, it _would_ have been nice to know that their car wasn’t lost to the City. 

That car is special. More so than people seem to get. It’s their _baby_. The four of them made it their own, adding in so many paint jobs and tune ups through the years that it’s just _theirs _now. No doubt about it. From the blood stains in the back seat where, at one point, every one of them have nearly bled out, to the cigarettes stashed in the glove box from when Ghoul asked Poison to date him.

“It’s all good,” he finds himself saying, looking away from the keys to give Stakes what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Thanks for keepin’ her safe.”

“Really, it's no problem!” 

Stakes looks visibly relieved and Kobra sorta feels bad for snapping at him earlier. It’s not like he was just waking him up for the hell of it.

Out of all of the Youngbloods, Stakes is the one Kobra… feels the closest too. Like he probably wouldn’t take a blast for him- maybe- but like, he feels more comfortable talking to Stakes than he does the others.

He’d made an effort to start out on the right foot with Kobra the other day, even asking how they did introductions in the desert. As if they’re a completely different culture or some shit, where shaking someone’s hand will get you shot.

Well, actually that is actually a thing that _could _happen. It really just depends on context and how pissy a crew is at any given moment. So maybe he was onto something when he asked how Kobra expected him to introduce himself.

But when he’d asked, it hadn’t been condescending like he’d half expected it to be. 

Most of the time, whenever he’s had the misfortune to talk to a city rebel, they’ve treated him like shit. Talked down to him like he’s an idiot, asked if he even knew how to _read_. It’s fucking _infuriating _and he may or may not have shot the person who asked if he knew how to count fucking carbons.

Stakes has proven to be different though. He’s treated the Four like equals rather than people different from him. All of the Youngbloods actually have been different than any other city rebels Kobra’s ever known. He doesn’t particularly _like_ them so to speak. But they’re not the worst either.

And, in a way, he trusts them.

“Can I ask a favor of you?”

He doesn’t mean to blurt it out and if Stakes hadn’t heard him, Kobra would just shrug it off and pretend he’d never said a thing. But Stakes _did_ hear him and even kindly tells him yes, that he could ask something of him.

Normally, he’s never big on trusting people he doesn’t know. It’s a problem at times, he knows this. But this is different. Something that he needs to do. Something he _has_ to make sure of.

Just in case.

Sometimes, Kobra can see where Poison is coming from when they call him impulsive. How when he’s emotional, especially when it comes to his crew, he doesn’t think things through and at times he can even make things worse. But this is different. This isn’t dangerous. It’s a _precaution_.

“Tomorrow night,” he begins quietly, pausing as he remembers Jet sleeping just behind him. He lowers his voice further. “If I don’t make it back… Look after ‘em for me?”

His voice catches painfully as the crashing realization that this very well might be his last night alive hits him like a train. But that’s why he has to do this. 

Why he has to ask.

Just the thought of any of his crew, of his _family_, getting killed is enough to nearly bring him to his knees. That fuels this though, this request.

Because he _knows_ what his death would do to the others. Jet would be broken, would probably vow to never love again or something. And yeah, Kobra’s put some thought into that. A lot of thought actually. 

And if that happens- _if_ he gets ghosted before Jet, he would like for him to be able to move on. Because people _can’t_ just have one person they’re meant to be with. That’s not fair. He wants Jet to be happy, even if it’s not with him.

Ghoul… Ghoul would probably try and keep his pain hidden from everyone. Even himself. But, Kobra knows for a fact that Ghoul would leave a trail of destruction and anger in his wake. Until it caught up to him. Kobra hates to admit it, but Ghoul would only end up being done in by one of his own bombs.

But Poison. _Poison_, Kobra knows for an absolute fact would shut down completely. Kobra knows this because he’s seen them when they’ve thought he was dead. They wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk- they became this shell. And if he doesn’t make it back- Witch fucking _forbid_\- then they’d just wither away. 

And Kobra can’t _stand _the thought of the people he cares about being so miserable, of how he _knows _they’d all find a way to blame themselves._ If_ he is going to die tomorrow, he wants to at least know that someone will be looking out for the others. Will be there to keep Ghoul away from his bombs for a while, to remind Jet of what’s important, force Poison to take care of themself.

And _fuck_\- Stakes is the only person he can think of that might have a shot at keeping the others afloat if he’s gone.

Maybe Stakes should just shrug him off, tell him to not think like that and wish him good luck on the mission.

The fact that he _doesn’t_ do that only reinforces Kobra’s decision.

“I will,” he assures Kobra faintly, his voice shaking yet sure. “Just- just make sure you look after yourself too.” 

Kobra nods sharply and Stakes turns to leave, but he stops mid-motion. Twisting back around, a smile breaks out on his face as he jerks a thumb behind him.

“Hey, Kid. How about before you leave, you stop by my shop and I’ll see if there’s anything I’ve got that can help you even the odds a bit?”

“Tech?” Kobra asks, thinking back to the walkie-talkie that Benz had earlier.

Getting some new tech, seeing as his power glove is probably still in the fucking sand somewhere, sounds goddamn _amazing_. Maybe he and Jet will stand a better chance if they’ve got something of an upper hand.

He’s _seen_ some of Stakes’ tech, so yeah, he’s genuinely eager to see what else the dude has up his sleeves. Kobra’s always a sucker for cool gadgets.

“Yep. Got _loads _of shit that the others won’t let me use down here. Benzedrine says they’re too dangerous,” he makes air quotes as he says dangerous and rolls his eyes for emphasis. “for someplace so populated. But the desert's pretty wide open isn’t it?” 

Stakes grins to him and, after a very enthusiastic yes from Kobra, turns and heads off down the hallway.

Shaking his head, Kobra slides back into the room as quietly as he can, the jackets and things held carefully in his arms.

“Who was that?”

Looking over, he finds Jet half sitting up in bed. The sheets spill over his lower half, covering from his midsection, down. His chest and arms are bare, his hair somehow falling gently around his face as he looks through sleepy eyes at Kobra. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the muscle of Jet’s arms, the way they’re stretched ever so slightly by the way he’s holding himself up. The way the soft light from the lamp by the bed reflects in his hair and how it makes his skin appear to be glowing. That lazy, gentle smile he’s wearing.

“ ‘jus Stakes.”

He lifts the things in his hands to show him. Jet raises an eyebrow. 

“We’re gonna go in full gear?” 

“Yeah,” Kobra says, looking down at the red and white blaster that sits on his jacket. Right beside the blue and white one that is Jet’s. “Might as well right? Make some fuckin’ noise.” _______________________________________________________________________

_Poison stares through heavily lidded eyes up at Ghoul. There’s sweat and dirt coating their forehead, though they still manage to look too pale against the diner’s red booth._

_Jet is working diligently at dabbing antiseptic over the fresh stitches in their thigh, his face set in a hard frown. Beside him, Kobra’s preparing the bandages they’re about to tape over the wound._

_And Ghoul is running his hands through Poison’s hair and trying to keep them awake. He should probably care that his hands are covered in blood (both Drac’s and Poison’s), motor oil, and soot from his blaster. But he doesn’t._

_Not when Poison is laying here, dazed from the pain of having their leg sewn shut without any anesthetic at all. Not even alcohol. _

_They hadn’t even screamed. Poison had barely made a fucking _sound _as Jet had pulled the needle through their skin. Ghoul had expected them to, would never have thought any less of them for it._

_But the teary eyed two-year old in her little playpen at the edge of the room was the most likely reason that Ghoul could come up with. She’s terrified, still and quiet as she watches the three of them work. _

_Ghoul’s pretty sure his hand is broken from how hard Poison’s squeezing it. But still, they haven't screamed and he doesn’t even _think_ about pulling his hand away._

_He hates to see them like this, suffering so much. But there was no way in hell they were gonna _wait_. The gash in Poison’s thigh is deep, damn near to the bone. Cleaning and stitching it shut couldn’t wait until tomorrow, until they can try and get in contact with a runner. Infection sets in fast and Ghoul’s heard of fever taking people in a _day_. _

_They’d had no other choice but this. To lay Poison out in the booth and work with what they had._

_Ghoul hates to see the pain on their face, the way their breaths are too fast from shock and adrenaline. How fucking close they came to bleeding out on the way here._

_“Ghoulie?”_

_He glances down to Poison and absently wipes away the beads of sweat that stick to their forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Then he shushes them as they whimper- a low, quiet sound that the toddler across the room probably didn’t even hear. But it’s full of pain, the first verbal confirmation of how much pain they’re really in._

_“Almost done, P,” he assures them gently as he goes back to running his filthy hands through their hair._

_They relax ever so slightly at his touch and he does his best to not dwell on it._

_Poison’s hazel eyes are slightly unfocused but as Kobra tapes down the bandage while Jet holds it in place, they seem to come out of it a bit more. _

_“I’ll see if I can find someone who's sellin’ painkillers in the morning,” Jet tells the three of them, sending Poison a sympathetic glance._

_“ ‘m fine. Jus’ pissed I got hit ‘s all.” At that, Ghoul rolls his eyes and helps Poison sit up enough in the booth to look outside towards the darkening desert._

_~ ~ ~ ~_

_“Ghoul!”_

_He turns his head sharply, a neon laser blast streaking past his face. It’s hot enough to burn a shallow line on his cheek._

_“Thanks!” he shouts in the direction Poison’s voice came from._

_Attention on the fight again, Ghoul kneels and steadies his elbow on his right knee. The launcher is heavy, impractical, and liable to get him ghosted in an instant. But that’s why he fuckin' _loves_ it._

_Ghoul’s not sure what it’s actually supposed to- ya know, _launch_. But homemade shrapnel bombs work just as well when you don’t know._

_He aims, takes a steadying breath as the Drac’s get lead right into his trap by Kobra, and pulls the trigger._

_~ ~ ~ ~_

_“Why’d you ‘av to go ‘n do somethin’ so fuckin’_ dumb_?” Poison spits, swaying on their feet and damn near spilling the contents of their drink all over themself _and_ Ghoul._

_He huffs, unamused by their drunken lectures. He’s already heard the sober version of their complaints before they even got to this party. So, why Poison’s choosing to bring it back up is beyond him._

_But he’s not gonna fight them on this. Not this time._

_His right hand throbs in retaliation, a reminder of the burns that Jet wrapped for him before he and Poison had left the diner. _

_So what, he’d gotten a little too close to one of his bombs again. Poison should expect that by now. _

_“I dunno Poison. Why do you ‘n Kobra 'av t' drink every time you’re pissed at someone?” It’s a low blow, one he feels bad for instantly. He doesn’t take it back though._

_Poison probably won’t remember this in the morning anyway. And if he’s lucky, neither will he._

_“ ‘cause I fuckin’- fuckin’ _worry _‘bout you Ghoulie!’ they shout, though he’s not sure if the slur is from their fifth drink or just from how upset they sound._

_“Why? ‘S not like we know each other at all.” Another low hit, one that he _does_ actually feel properly bad for. But it’s the truth._

_Ghoul’s known them for two years, at most. And most of that time was spent trying to get _away_ from them. They’re only just trying the whole “crew” thing._

_He’d assumed for so long that he was going to be on his own that suddenly being surrounded by people was too much. People who _talk_ and care and expect him to not get himself killed. It’s still a lot to take in and half of his mind wants to just _run_. But then he looks over to Poison, at the way they’re clutching the cup in their hand like it’s a lifeline. How the multi-colored lights- how the hell had people even _gotten_ those things- reflect off of their bright red hair._

_“C’mon.” Before he can protest, Ghoul’s being led by his uninjured arm through the crowd. People dance all around them, packed tightly enough together to make getting across the “dance floor” - Ghoul’s pretty sure this place is just an abandoned convenience store that someone removed all of the shelves from- difficult. _

_A blast of cold air hits them as Poison all but drags him out into the nighttime air. He takes a relieved breath, glad to be away from so many people. He’s been getting better but still- a lot of people make him nervous and he tries to avoid crowds if he can._

_Leave it to Poison to convince him to go to a fucking party._

_They find themselves leaning against the Trans- AM, the cool metal raising goosebumps on Ghoul’s skin as it pierces the layers of his shirt. Poison relaxes on the hood beside him, their head tilted as they stare up at the stars. Their mouth is parted slightly, the reflections of the stars in their eyes and the wind catching in their hair._

_It’s times like this where Ghoul finds himself unable to look away, pulled in by Party Poison and the way the desert seems to bend around them._

_“Me ‘n Kobra are siblings,” they say under their breath, eyes never leaving the stars. _

_For some reason, he feels like he wants to share too. Something in the way they’re speaking pulling him in further._

_Normally he doesn’t trust like this. That’s his rule, his most important one. But this is _Poison_. He can trust them. _

_As much as his head screams that he can’t, he knows that he can._

_“I ran away from the City. I dunno how old I was but I was young enough ‘t not be in school.”_

_He notices the way their mouth quirks up in a half smile at his admission, like they were only half expecting him to join in._

_“Me and Kobra got out together. He saved me.”_

_Ghoul finds himself nodding, though they’re not looking at him at all._

_He doesn’t remember the City much- or at all really. But he doubts they have stars like this there._

_Where the whole sky is littered in them and you can see the sparse cloud misting away in the distance along the horizon. Or how the Joshua trees form tall, bizarre shadows along the edges of the sands as the world titles beyond vision._

_“Carden.”_

_“Huh?”_

_Confused, Ghoul studies the lines of Poison’s face, trying to figure out what they mean._

_“ ‘s my name. My city one,” they say simply, though there's a shake in their voice that Ghoul can’t miss._

_Carden… strangely, it fits them well._

_A name is a big thing though, a _huge_ thing and Ghoul’s not sure if he’s ready to share that part of himself with Poison. Again, he barely knows them._

_No one knows his name. _He _barely even fucking remembers it._

_“Figured it was ‘bout time I told you. You’ve saved my life, multiple times, taken care of Kobra when I couldn’t, fuckin’ _babysat_.” They chuckle, shaking their head and finally, _finally_ looking over at Ghoul. He honestly doesn’t know what to say, how to tell them that he’s just not ready for that. So he just stays quiet and tries to wrap his mind around what Poison’s saying._

_“That’s why I worry I guess. ‘Cause you’re my friend Ghoul. I don’t like seein’ you hurt, ‘specially not by stupid shit like today.”_

_Ghoul lets out a short chuckle at that, because they _do_ have a point._

_Ghosted by one of his own bombs sounds like a shit way to go anyway._

_“I’ll be more careful,” he assures them._

_And if Poison’s upset that he didn’t share his name as well, they don’t show it. They just continue to stare up at the sky, eyes wide in wonder. Like they’re a kid seeing the stars for the first time._

~ ~ ~

Ghoul is jerked from his sleep as an arm flies into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as hoarse screaming fills his ears.

He flinches and his eyes shoot open. Met with nothing but the darkness of the room around him, he can feel the bed shake as someone jerks and thrashes beside him.

It’s _Poison_ he realizes belatedly, as they shout something that sounds close to a name. But they sound almost manic with the way they’re screaming, the way their voice cracks and breaks but they don’t stop.

With some effort, he sits up and flips on the lamp by the bed. 

He’s afraid to look over but he knows that he has to.

He finds Poison, eyes tightly shut, their mouth open as they pant and scream. Their hands are scrambling, arms flailing as they fight something that simply _isn’t_ there. Their face is pulled tight in terror and panic. They look ghostly in the low light.

“Hey, hey, c’mon P,” he soothes, leaning over and dodging another uncoordinated swing.

He can’t remember if they have nightmares like this usually, but he does remember that he needs to keep them from hurting themself. That and he needs to pull them out of it. 

One thing at a time though.

Ghoul catches Poison’s right arm as it swings towards his face and gently, though still with force, brings it back to their side. He gets ahold of their left arm next and does the same with it before swinging his legs over theirs and sitting up on his knees to keep them in place. Poison still thrashes and fights him, their screams turning hoarse and wordless.

“Damnt,” he curses under his breath, leaning forward a bit to put more pressure on their arms to keep them still. “Fucking _hell_ Poison.” They don’t hear him and he’s beginning to worry that they’re not going to be able to wake up at all. But their fighting is growing weaker as they tire themself out. A few more moments later and he’s able to hold their arms down by carefully folding them over their own middle with one hand.

Ghoul’s other hand comes up to the side of Poison’s head, cupping it gently and keeping them from thrashing it back and forth. 

“Come on P. You need t’ wake up before you fuckin’ break somethin’!”

Amazingly, it works. He thanks every god he knows as Poison’s eyes flutter open, their hazel eyes brimming with unshed tears and confusion.

There's distinct fear as well. Lingering even though they're not dreaming anymore.

“G?” they croak, their eyes barely open and their breathing heavy.

“Yeah. I’m right here Party. I got you.”

After a moment, they shift uncomfortably and Ghoul is reminded that he’s still holding them down. With a quick, mumbled apology, he crawls off of them and shifts to lean back against the headboard. Making sure he stays close. 

“What’d you dream about?” he asks after a while, unable to get the image of what just happened out of his head.

They’re still breathing heavily but they pull themself up to sit beside him with shaking arms. He lets himself worry over them a moment. Taking in how their skin is soaked in sweat and how wild their eyes are as they dart around the room. Like they’re certain something’s waiting in the shadows.

In the quiet, Ghoul begins to remember what _he_ was dreaming of.

Memories, real, fucking _actual_, memories.

Of Poison, no less.

“How ‘bout I share this time?” he asks, the confused look they give him letting him know they don’t know the “other time” he’s referencing. “I was dreaming too. But it wasn’t bad.” He turns his head to look at Poison, at _Carden_. They look so different now than they did in his memories.

Pale and thin, with heavy eyes and shaking hands.

“What’d you dream about?” they ask him in a whisper, their voice thoroughly fucked from how much they were screaming.

But they’re not coughing and they seem to have already gotten their breath back. So Ghoul does his best to not worry too much about how raspy and weak their voice comes out.

“You,” he says, just as softly. “I remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger dudes!  
This was getting really long and I didn't want to end up with 30+ pages since I'm aiming for shorter chapters.  
So, Ghoul finally remembered something! Ah that part was so fun to write honestly!! Like I'd realized a bit ago that all of the other's city names had been used but that Poison's hadn't come up really at all. And that entire flashback just sorta flowed for me. I don't think I stopped once while writing it. Because the only family Ghoul knows, is his crew. He doesn't remember anything else. So, of course one of his first "real" memories of Poison is going to be the times he first truly noticed that he was getting close to them.  
And also, I'm a sucker for the name sharing thing. You'd think I'd like ran it into the ground by now but nope. I still love it and I was smiling like an idiot while writing that bit.  
Also, the beginning with Kobra was a lot of fun too. Actually, this whole chapter really. It just flowed so well and I'm genuinely really happy with it.  
Plus, I was able to put a couple of *hints* in there that blended pretty easily. Though, again, none of the foreshadowing is as straight forward as it might look. I've been plotting this current arc for Ages and so to see it just beginning to kick into place is so much fun.  
Also, also, just a disclaimer, all of my depictions of ptsd are based on information I found online, posted to credited sites. But if anything is inaccurate or I've used/ portrayed something incorrectly I ask that you please tell me. I want this to be as accurate as possible without stereotyping the symptoms and effects of mental illnesses. Because this is a real thing that people live with every day. I've included it in this fic, mainly in Poison's character (But the others in varying degrees as well) as a way to shed a little light onto the more gritty details of it. I make no intention of romanticizing ptsd or any mental illness, instead I am attempting to shine a bit more of a light on how it can affect people in different ways. 
> 
> Saying that, there is of course going to be a healing curve so to speak. Characters are gonna get better and begin recovering. But just like in real life, that's not an instantaneous or absolute thing. Trauma doesn't just 'go away'. I just wanted to mention that here because too often mental illnesses and similar things are used simply as a plot device to create a way for someone to "love" that character better. And yeah, compassion and just being there for people helps but it's not a cure. So , back into the context of this story- I'm rambling I'm sorry!- Poison might have been able to calm down from their panic two chapters ago with the help of Kobra and the others, but if you notice, they're very clearly not instantly better. Unfortunately, life isn't that simple. And often times it does get worse before it gets better.  
Final addition, I do have a name in mind for The Girl. But I don't quite know if/when it's gonna be reveled.  
Alright, I'll stop rambling on now. But as always, please feel free to yell at me here in the comments or on my tumblr honestmouse20  
<3
> 
> And for reference (because we know them all now)-  
Kobra Kid= Miles  
Jet Star= Mason  
Fun Ghoul= Alex  
Party Poison= Carden


	11. Marks That We Left On Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes before it gets better/The darkness gets bigger/The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger"  
~ Am I using this to describe Poison's view point or Ghoul's?? ~Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
*nightmares  
*uh I guess a bit of self hate. But not really? I dunno. Mentioning just to be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening dudes!  
Sorry this one is a bit late. It's also really short. But the past few days have been rough and so this chapter's been difficult. I almost didn't update but I got last second inspiration for this scene. It's super short and I'm sorry about that. I just don't think I have another scene in me today.  
But yeah, fingers crossed I'll be able to get the next update done on time. I'm aiming for sometime during the day on Wednesday. But I'm not gonna promise it.  
My amazing beta and friend @i_like_to_wander_around_here on tumblr helped so much with this chapter and I can't thank her enough!
> 
> *Chapter title is from Pinkish by Gerard Way*

Poison finds themself standing on the opposite side of the bed, across from Ghoul.

Their head spins and they’re not sure if it’s from how fast they’d stood up or from the bombshells Ghoul’s just dropped on their head. 

Their hands shake too, even clenched by their sides. It might be residual from their nightmares, or it might not. Poison tries to not think about it.

The room around them feels frozen in this moment, quiet and suffocating, as they try- and fail- to get any coherent thought to come through. Everything in their head is just a mess of _Ghoul_.

How, despite how far he’s come, he still doesn’t remember being in love with them.

He sits across from where they’re standing, on the bed, cross legged and leaning against the headboard. Ghoul watches them closely, though it’s guarded. Like he’s afraid they're going to break at any second.

Poison is beginning to get sick of seeing that look on people’s faces when they look at them. They’re _fine_.

You can’t just fucking _expect_ them to be normal after their heart gets fucking shattered.

_Again_.

“Poison?”

“No,” they snap, their voice coming out more pleading than the bitterness they were aiming for. “No. Just… just-”

They shake their head and try to get their breathing to steady out. Their heartbeat pounds in their ears and they replay Ghoul’s words over in their head. The room still spins and all they’re able to picture, all they’re able to think of, is Ghoul. 

The day he asked them out. 

The hesitation and blatant fear of rejection that filled his eyes. The way he fucking _stuttered_ as he’d asked, as if their reaction was something that’d been bothering him. Like they were gonna say no and shrug him off. Break his heart.

Destroy all of that trust they’d only barely built up at that point.

They remember the way his lips felt as they’d finally broken from their shock and crashed their mouths together. Poison had never even _thought_ of how much they cared for him until he’d said it. And then all of a sudden it was crashing down on them like a tidal wave and all they could think about was how badly they needed to kiss him before they combusted from it. As if their body had been building up all of that need, all of that want, since they’d met him and unleashed it the second he’d opened his mouth to ask. They’d kissed him like they were dying. The kind of kiss you hear about when a crew knows they’re going down, when there’s nothing else to do but show the person you love one last time how much you love them.

“Did- did I do something wrong?”

Ghoul’s voice startles them- like so many things seem to do nowadays- but it sounds scared, too quiet and altogether lacking the confidence they’re so used to him holding. He sounds like he did the day they started dating, scared, vulnerable. As if his emotions are reliant, dependant on Poison’s reaction. As if one bad response from them could be the very thing to crush him. It’s too much responsibility, being trusted with his emotions like this. 

“No,” they whisper, not even sure if they’re asking him to stop, or apologizing.

They just don’t even know what to _think_!

On one hand, Ghoul fucking remembers their _name _now. Their biggest goddamn secret. Four people in the entire fucking _world_ know their city name. Their brother, Jet, The Girl, and Ghoul. That’s _it_. And they’d shared that with him in confidence, in a moment of trust after they’d damn near lost him that day.

They remember exactly what was going through their head as they’d given it to him that night all those years ago. How they’d thought for certain he was dead the second the explosion rocked the dinner. Finding him unconscious in the sand with his hand still smoking had _gutted _them. They’d never been so afraid in their entire life.

Except maybe the time Kobra’d gotten the Zone flu. But that was the _point_!

They fucking care about Ghoul and that’s why it only took a little bit of alcohol for them to spill their secrets at his feet. Jet didn’t even find out until a year later, when they’d accidentally answered to their old name while Kobra was_ heavily _intoxicated.

And despite all of that, for some fucking reason, Poison just can’t ignore the bitter sting of _betrayal _that’s hits deep in their chest.

They know that’s not fair, that they were the one who told him so he’s done absolutely nothing wrong by simply remembering. It’s there though, that dark voice in the back of their mind screaming that he’s told their secret.

Poison tries to ignore it, to remind themself that they _do_ trust Ghoul. Present tense. They trust him now, in this moment. He brought them out of the nightmare they were having earlier, has been nothing but kind and loving and-

And so much like himself that it makes their chest constrict.

How had they never noticed that before?

Just cause he doesn’t remember that they’re together, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love them. They can see it in how he’s still waiting on them to say something, in the way he’d gotten their plate for them the other day. How he’d held them as they fell asleep.

They’re an _idiot_ for ever acting like they lost him.

But Poison’s head is such a mess right now that they’re certain they’re about to implode from all the pressure building behind their eyes and they can’t even begin to finish the thought of Ghoul maybe- possibly falling in love with them again. Not when every piece of them has screamed from the beginning that he’s gone, that they’ve lost him and that it’s somehow their fault. Their punishment for failing so horribly inside the City.

Because his memory loss doesn’t really hurt anyone but Poison now, does it?

Except it does. Very clearly it hurts Ghoul too. 

“Please,” Ghoul says again, leaning towards them. “I thought-” his face falls a bit, his eyes finding the sheets still at his feet. “I thought you’d be glad I’d remembered.”

It’s the way he says it, the way he sounds like they’ve crushed him completely. That’s what snaps Poison out of it.

Of course they’re fucking glad he remembers. 

What the hell is wrong with them?

Freaking out over something that’s not his fault, blaming him and feeling hurt that he’d remembered something?

That’s a horrible thing for them to do and they can see now that they’ve hurt him. Not the other way around. And that’s the worst thing they could ever do. Ghoul shouldn’t ever have to worry about them hurting him. Poison would die for him, would give anything in the fucking world for him to be happy and healthy.

They’re not sure when and how they lost sight of that. But they’re determined to try and make it up to him for the damage they’ve already inflicted.

Shaking their head and attempting to ignore the twinge in their neck, Poison tries to think more clearly. 

“Sorry, I’m still just a bit… messed up from the uh, dreams.”

It’s the truth. It’s much more than just the dreams but this is a start, better than nothing. 

To admit that they’re not quite alright and that they’re having a hard time figuring everything out.

Ghoul lifts his head slowly, vulnerable, forest green eyes very cautiously meeting theirs. He looks scared and they realize just how badly they’ve hurt him without ever realizing it. Ghoul depends on them in a way. He’s just seen how close the two of them are and then Poison just has to go and act like a dick right after. 

Maybe that’s why he’s had such a hard time remembering them. Because they haven't been acting like themself. They’ve not acted like his datemate for a single _second_ since they’ve woken up. No wonder it took until just now for him to get any memories at all.

That’s going to change now. They’re done blaming him, done expecting him to act a certain way while they refuse to be the person he knows. The person he needs. Especially right now.

“I’m really glad you’ve got some of your memories back Ghoul,” they add, their words so fucking genuine and soft that it makes him smile. “I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

It’s such a simple sentence, something they could just _say_ without really meaning it. But they do mean it, with every piece of them they are so fucking happy that he’s getting better. That he’s recovering and is coming back to them a little more each day. It’s_ progress _and he’s been doing it all on his own, while people pushed him away because he wasn’t the same. Poison especially.

And maybe Poison’s going nuts but they swear to god his cheeks go pink right before their eyes.

For a very brief second Ghoul’s back, fully back. Blushing and melting as they finally manage to be open with how they’re feeling. It’s not their fault they suck at this- or well maybe it is. No one _forced_ them to take all of those pills back in the City.

But they still struggle sometimes and this is proof. 

Hopefully though, judging by the relief and _love_ shining in Ghoul’s eyes, they haven't fucked this up beyond repair.

There’s a knock at the door, Kobra’s voice telling them that it’s time.

And just like that, the atmosphere fades. They’re thrust back into reality.

Ghoul’s blush hasn’t left, doesn’t even fade as he awkwardly climbs out of the bed and shuffles over. They notice how he winces when he pushes himself up with his sore side but then he’s helping them get their shoes on, tying their bandana for them.

Poison is too caught up in it to insist that they can do it themself. 

“Ready?” he asks, giving them a concerned once over.

_Are_ they ready?

The answer is very clearly no. 

They’re not ready to send Kobra and Jet off on a mission that has a high chance of getting them ghosted. But Ghoul seems to understand that, understand they don’t have a real answer. 

Wordlessly, he reaches out and takes Poison’s hand.

It sends a shockwave through them as part of them flinches on instinct and the other relaxes instantly into the familiar touch. They make no move to pull away. And just like that, Ghoul’s leading them back up to the control room where they’ll say goodbye to their brother and Jet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, sorry again for how short this one is. But this is literally number 10 of my attempted drafts for how this scene might play out and I'm just not even gonna Attempt the goodbye scene that comes next. Cause emotions and things are hard and they don't just flow right when you're having a bad day (s).  
Still, I hope you all enjoyed this! It may not be my best work on a chapter but I'm... decently happy with it. If you'd like, leave a comment or kudos to let me know your thoughts! I'm also on tumblr as @honestmouse20 so you can always yell at me there if you want.  
<3


	12. Hand In Mine Into Your Icy Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And with the black banners raised/As the crooked smiles fade/Former heroes who quit too late"  
~The Kids Aren't Alright by Fall Out Boy. Yes I've used this song a bunch. No I don't plan on stopping any time soon haha~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
*past drug use/withdraws  
*PTSD  
*death/almost death, mentioned  
*brief descriptions of wounds  
*bombs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers!  
This one's a bit late, more so than last updates. My only excuse is work and still sorta feeling bleh. But this one's a good 10 pages longer than the last chapter to make up for how short it was.  
Huge thank you to i- like- to-wander-around-here on tumblr for being my beta and for all of her help on getting Ghoul's tattoos sorted out. More on that, in the end notes.  
*Chapter title is from Demolition Lovers. Guess who in this fic has blue eyes. Hint. It's Kobra. But... does it mean anything??*

Focusing on the task at hand is beginning to prove difficult. To listen to Stakes’ instructions on how to use the modified coms he’d made. It’s hard, especially when all Jet’s mind wants is to wander. To try and remember everything about his crew before they go on this mission.

Kobra stands by his side, clearly soaking in every word about the tech and probably already thinking of ways he could modify it. Though there’s a rigidity in the way he’s standing that betrays just how badly this mission is weighing on him.

The stress he’s under is clear in the way he keeps close to Jet. Never allowing much distance between them. How he, not so subtly, keeps glancing towards his sibling and Ghoul.

He’s stressed, _more_ than stressed. 

Kobra is_ scared_. 

And Jet doesn’t blame him.

Truthfully? He’s scared too.

There’s just so many things that are out of their control and can go wrong.

And that’s not even counting the things that_ are _in their control.

Poison quietly clears their throat and Jet looks over.

They’re on his other side, standing hand in hand with Ghoul. He’d noticed that instantly- of course he had. But he hasn’t had the chance to ask them about it. The second the four of them had entered the communications room, the Youngbloods were handing Kobra and him supplies. 

But, does this mean Ghoul’s finally remembered?

Did Poison end up telling him the truth?

Or, perhaps more likely, Ghoul finally looked at the tattoo on his chest and the pieces clicked.

Either way, he’s holding their hand but it’s very clearly more for them, than himself. Because Poison looks like a wreck.

Though, no one else would be able to tell. No one, but their crew. Poison is good, _scary_ good, at hiding shit like this and acting like they’re fine. But Jet’s not an idiot and he knows they’re about ten seconds from dragging Kobra and Jet back to their room and locking them there. 

As Stakes goes on about which frequencies the comms use and the battery life, Jet goes over the list of supplies he has in his head.

He’s got his own blaster, fully charged and cleaned, along with a whole bag full of supplies. Sandman had handed them a dark, military style backpack. Both full to the brim, the zippers only barely pulled shut from how much shit is crammed inside.

Jet had gone through his briefly, finding meal bars, plenty of water, charge for his gun, medical supplies, a map, and even a backup radio.

To say they were prepared would be an understatement.

“And so unless you shove these babies into the fucking radiation belt, they’re not gonna break,” Stakes is saying, waving the com in his hand around as he speaks. 

He turns and the joking look on his face changes as he and Sandman hold a silent exchange for a brief moment. Sandman sighs and pushes off of the table he was leaning against. Stakes looks almost relieved. Jet begins fully listening again, curious as to what Stakes wouldn’t want to tell them.

“We have one ground rule. You're probably not gonna like it but…" Sandman pauses and seems to gather himself with an uncertain breath. " It's not that we don't trust you, we're just worried about things that might go wrong if we lose track of you two out there. So… so we want you to check in. Every hour. We’ll have a code word you’ll say first, so we know that it’s you and vise versa, and then you can give a short update on where you are, what’s going on. That sorta thing.”

Jet frowns, noticing the way that Sandman seems to almost be wary of telling them this. Which doesn’t make sense. It’s a perfectly understandable request that they stay in contact. Jet was about to suggest something similar.

But it's almost like they're _expecting_ something to go wrong.

While Jet wouldn't say they’ve _never_ had a mission that’s gone wrong- which, his current headache from straining his eye is proof of just how wrong his past few _have _gone- they’ve also done hundreds of runs like this before. This is their life, their job, and Jet has faith in his and Kobra’s abilities.

The Youngbloods shouldn't underestimate them. Well, they shouldn't _unless_ they know something Jet and the others don't.

“Why,” Kobra asks slowly, eyeing Sandman like he’s daring him to lie.

He’s suspicious too and Jet can already see him running scenarios in his head, searching for the reason why the Youngbloods are being extra careful and cryptic.

“We uh…,” Sandman looks nervous still, like he’s afraid of something. “we got some intel from one of our crews out there. The patrols _are_ on a schedule and it uh- tonight there’s three ‘crow teams gonna be out.”

The breath catches in Jet’s lungs. Suddenly Sandman’s hesitation makes sense.

“Are they gonna be near us?” Kobra questions, hope in his tone, like he’s holding out that the patrols are going to be far off. 

“Yes.”

Jet curses under his breath and suddenly, he doesn’t feel prepared at all. Dodging one patrol of ‘crows is hard enough on a good day. But _three_ is gonna be damn near impossible. Especially if there’s only gonna be two of them. 

And even more so because of the migraine he can't seem to get rid of. He can function with it but it's not ideal. Not when there’s no way in hell he’s gonna put this on hold so Benz can run and grab him a tylenol or some shit. 

Adding in the possibility of running into patrols, Jet realizes he's been an idiot. This is different than all the other missions he's been on. 

Because he and Kobra still aren't a hundred percent and the Dracs they might encounter _will_ be.

Before Jet can figure out what the hell he’s gonna do, Kobra turns to face him. His hand is on his hip, his bright red jacket a stark contrast against the grey shaded room. Jet’s own jacket rests heavily over his shoulders, his gun now a thousand pounds heavier.

“Your decision Jet,” Kobra tells him.

The sheer amount of sincerity and trust in Kobra’s words takes Jet back. He’d expected Kid to just straight up refuse, put his foot down and demand they find another way. This is basically _asking_ for a clap. 

There’s no way in hell they’ll be able to avoid three patrols, especially not with a round trip. Not with the kid. 

_Fuck_.

Even if they manage to get through the patrols once, they’ll still have to find a way to get The Girl back. If they get caught in a fight… 

Well, they all saw how badly that ended last time they picked a fight with a ‘crow.

Jet lost an eye and Ghoul got his face all fucking slashed and- and Kobra and Poison damn near died. 

_And_ they’d lost the girl.

Not the best fucking track record.

Even so, Jet knows that if they don’t go now, they won’t get the chance to do this again. And he just can’t risk that. Can’t risk never getting to see The Girl again. She means too much to him. To all of them. All those years of saying they would die for each other, for _her_, they weren’t just idle promises. As long as Jet’s still breathing his promise to keep his crew safe stands. 

Patrols and ‘crows, the entire fucking _City_, be damned.

“We’ll go.”

Even to himself, his voice sounds uncertain. Like he’s half asking for someone to correct him or suggest a better way. But he’s not, not really. He can see it in the smile Kobra shoots him, the trust and the understanding for his decision. 

“If things go south,” Sandman speaks up, meeting Jet’s eyes. “We’ll be your backup team. No one’s getting left behind out there. Understood?”

Fighting a smile at the thought of having _real_, actual backup, Jet nods.

Realizing that this is it, Jet turns to his friends. Poison is very carefully not looking at any of them, while at the same time holding onto Ghoul’s hand so tightly that it’s bound to be painful. But Ghoul’s leaned a bit towards them, offering silent support.

Jet gets it, he really does.

Poison is trusting the two of them a _lot_ on this mission. Jet _knows _ he's asking too much of them by doing this, by taking their brother and waving him in front of danger so soon after everything else. But it has to be done. And Poison knows that.

They wouldn’t be letting them leave if they didn’t think so. Jet’s witnessed first hand when Poison’s completely put their foot down and vetoed a plan. They can be _impossible_ in times like that, refusing to listen to anything anyone else says. But it’s saved their asses more than once over their time as a crew. Jet’s learned to take a step back when Poison gets like that.

To slow down and figure out what’s going on in that head of theirs and then work their way back from there.

Their outburst the other day when this mission was made was, honestly, expected. Jet never thought for a second that they’d instantly be okay with it, but he’s also proud that they’ve agreed to it at all. Sometimes, even when they’ve been shown that there’s no other way, Poison will still refuse. Especially on things like this. 

“We told Doc we’d be leavin’ at 10am t’day,” Jet says, glancing down at the watch Stakes has given him. “We’ve got 40 minutes b’fore we need to be uptop to catch our ride.”

Jet doesn’t say anything about the AM, he isn’t quite sure how Poison would react to learning the car was still in one piece. The keys dangle on his belt, hidden by his jacket. They feel wrong.

Yeah, sure the car is technically his, but Poison’s always the one driving it. It feels wrong to take the driver’s seat now. After everything.

Kobra’s bag thunks as he sets it down on the table. In a flash he’s across the room, pulling Poison in for a crushing embrace. Kobra holds them like they’re the one about to leave, so tight it must hurt. Poison’s eyes are squeezed shut as they hold on just as strrong, their arms wrapping around him like they can protect him from this by that alone.

He whispers something to them, something Jet knows better than to try and hear, before begrudgingly pulling away. 

There's tears in Ghoul's eyes as he gets the next hug from Kobra. It startles him a bit, Jet can see the way he jumps as Kobra’s arms are suddenly wrapped around him. But then he just melts into it, the tension in his body passing like a wave. Again, Kobra says something to him that no one else can hear. Poison actually manages to smile a bit as Ghoul just squeezes Kobra tighter when he tries to pull away. He's always been clingy when he wants to be. Jet's been used as a climbing post on many occasions, and a bed, and a head rest.

He's never really minded though, despite the shit he always gives Ghoul when he falls asleep on him.

Jet smiles too, just from watching them. Just from remembering how nice it is when they'd all pile together on the coldest nights in the diner. Motorbaby and Ghoul would get the middle because they got cold the most. And Kobra would curl up between the kid and Jet while Poison would snuggle in behind Ghoul.

No matter what, Jet's never felt more safe than he did those nights. Simply surrounded by his crew.

It’s what makes all of this so bitter sweet. The way that they’re all very carefully not mentioning how big of a deal this is. How Poison doesn’t look two seconds away from dragging Kobra back to his room by his jacket sleeve. Or how, when Poison looks up at Jet, he can see the tears threatening to fall in their eyes.

But their face is stone, their posture strong as Kobra finally manages to pull out of Ghoul’s hold- though he’s smiling so clearly he wasn’t against it. Jet is pulling Poison in before he’s even comprehended that he’s moved. 

He sighs as they wrap shaky hands around his middle, how their breath catches and their head goes to his shoulder. He never gets over how small they feel when he hugs them like this. 

How vulnerable they really are. How easy it would be for someone to hurt them. 

It makes Jet hold on just like Kobra did. As if holding them for this brief moment will keep them safe while he's gone.

“Please be safe.”

Their voice is muffled and rough, but Jet agrees instantly. He’ll do everything in his power to come back to them in one piece. Kobra and The Girl in tow. He failed them once, let them think it was their fault that things went wrong.

He won't make the same mistakes again.

Poison lets go first, discreetly wiping their eyes and shooting him an unreadable look. One tinged in a sad acceptance. A goodbye.

He can't bring himself to answer and instead shoots them a weary smile. All he can manage.

Wordlessly, he goes to stand by Ghoul.

The kid isn’t even looking up and Jet can see the confusion twisting on his face. He hugs him anyway, relieved the moment Ghoul relaxes into it and hugs him back. It feels like every other time he's hugged Ghoul like this. Comforting him from the nightmares he refuses to tell anyone about. Assuring him that, of course Poison is gonna come back from their run. 

It feels the same but still somehow so different.

“Don’t die,” he says into the fabric of Jet’s shirt, his laugh coming out as more of a sob than anything else.

It breaks Jet's heart.

“Never. It wouldn’t stick.”

It’s an old phrase of theirs, one of the first things they’d really bonded over. Ghoul had nearly died and Jet had- pissed off at his carelessness- told him that if he died, he’d bring him back just to clean up the fucking mess he'd made. Ghoul had, of course, responded by confidently telling Jet that death wouldn’t stick to him. Never mind the fact that he was damn near covered head to toe in bandages.

Hearing Ghoul say it now, after all these years and after loosing so much of his memories, makes Jet’s heart constrict. But in a good way this time. In a relieved way.

When they eventually pull apart, Jet knows that it’s time. 

He has to go now, no more stalling.

He's ready.

“Those med-kits I gave you are top of the line, try not to die before you get to use them,” Benz tells them with a _try me_ sort of smile once Jet turns back around.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sandman offers them a smile of his own, reassuring and more positive than Jet would have expected.

He motions them on and just like that, Jet’s hiking the bag up onto his shoulders and taking Kobra’s hand. 

They walk out together.

_______________________________________

Sandman watches Jet and Kobra as they go into the hallway. The metal door closes behind them with a sharp click.

He allows himself a moment, just a moment, to panic. And only on the inside.

Kobra and Jet… they looked so fucking _young_ walking out those doors, and he can’t help but feel like he’s letting them walk to their deaths. They’re _kids_ for fucks sake! They’re kids and they’re _hurt_ and he’s just standing by while they rush back out into the fight. Even worse, he’s _helping _them.

And it kills him to stay quiet, to just let The Four do their thing.

Maybe it’s because he watched Benz fight tooth and fucking _nail_ to keep Poison’s heart beating that first night they brought them down here. Or maybe it’s that flicker of fear he saw in Kobra’s eyes. 

It could be the way they’d said goodbye just now, how hard they’d clung to each other.

These are fucking _kids_. Sandman’s mind just won’t let him forget that.

Poison’s shaky exhale seems loud in the otherwise quiet control room. No one’s moved yet and Sandman isn’t fully sure how long he’s let himself panic for.

Shaking his head roughly, he pushes off of the table lined with computers and turns to the guards that are standing around the room. These are his best, the ones he’s known the longest and is completely confident in their skill. And their ability to keep the biggest secret in the Underground. 

That The Four are right beneath the City’s feet. Or- well, two of them, anyway.

“Alright, I want four teams sent out, at least one guard on each team.”

His captain nods sharply and Sandman can already see her organizing people into teams before he’s even finished his thought. O’Neal is his best, been down here damn near as long as he has. He trusts her with his life, trusts her with this responsibility. He doubts few others could be as efficient as O’Neal when it comes to things like this.

“I want team 1 to check for structural damage from the bombs. Main support tunnels, load bearing walls, that sorta thing. If there’s a new crack, I want to know about it.”

O’Neal nods sharply.

“Phantom I want you with team 1.”

He nods as well, thankfully not arguing. It’s weird having full power in times like this. Sandman is used to leaning on his crew, bouncing ideas off of them and working through things _together_ rather than just spouting orders. But desperate times right?

“Team two,” he continues, facing back to O’Neal. “Is gonna be different. No less than 12 people, three guards. I want rolling sweeps of the entire Lobby. Every hallway, every turn.”

“Should we tell the crews to stay in their rooms until this mission is finished?”

Sandman sighs and pushes the hair off of his forehead as he thinks. 

“No, no they’d just ask too many questions. Best way to keep this a secret is to act like business as usual.”

“Yes sir.”

“Next, I want team 3 in this room at all times to keep the techs protected while they work.” Sandman doesn’t say that if this goes south and they’re found out, this room will be the first to be destroyed by the City. All of the Lobby’s information is in this room, all of their records. Losing this room would be game over. 

No redo.

He doesn’t say this of course, because that’s only on the chance this _does_ go wrong _and_ the City manages to get past all of the guards.

If need be, he'll cross that bridge when it comes to him. For now, he has bigger priorities.

“Finally, team 4 is to guard each of the exits. Well known ones and the hidden. Two people per exit at the least. I don’t want anyone getting in or out that I don’t know about.”

“Understood,” O’Neal says with a sharp nod. 

“Stakes I want you with that team. Main entrance.”

After he gets an agreeing grunt from Stakes, Sandman lets out a deep breath. Poison and Ghoul are sorta staring at him. Their eyes wide.

He hated keeping quiet while they were making the plans for this mission. It’s not his place to tell them what to do, or to remind them how difficult this is going to be. He wants to though.

Sandman wishes he could just lock the four of them in a room and ensure _personally_ that they are never in danger again. That they never see another firefight, never go hungry. 

But he can’t. And that’s what makes this so fucking _difficult_, what makes his head spin around in circles as he tries to keep himself from babying these kids. Because yeah, they’re young, but they’ve also managed to lead the entire desert side of the rebellion for _years_. With a young child living with them no less.

He’s only just beginning to regain their trust, to understand that no matter how much he wants to store them away someplace safe, that they’d never agree to such a thing. They’re too headstrong, too free, for something like that. 

Even so, Sandman is well aware that there are some precautions he _has_ to take.

“And O’Neal, I want you to organize those teams for me but I need you here during this mission. I’ve got a personal assignment for you.”

Her eyes instantly go to where Poison and Ghoul stand. They both catch on a moment later.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter,” Poison huffs, their chin jerking up in defiance.

It’d be convincing and Sandman would probably back down, if it weren’t for the fact that he can see the thick bandage on their chin clear as day. The way that they breathe out shakily as they try and mask how bad that simple action hurts their healing wound.

Poison wouldn't survive another hit so soon and Sandman will be damned if they're left unguarded at a time like this.

Yeah, Poison is defiant as always. But still hurt. And Sandman’s taking no chances.

“Not a babysitter. Just a precaution. O’Neal won’t follow you into your room or the bathroom. She’s only here for your protection.”

There’s a long moment where it feels like they’re going to argue but Ghoul manages to slip his hand back into theirs. They keep their eyes narrowed at him a moment longer. And then, they simply deflate and their head falls. 

“Fine,” Poison growls, very clearly not happy about this.

Sandman has just seen a glimpse of the real Poison. He has no doubt about that. This is the Killjoy who he’s always been a little afraid of. Or… wary is a better word. The kid is a detonator. A desert term that he only associates with Party Poison.

A walking bomb essentially. Living fast and hard before inevitably going out in a bang. Of all the detonators and crash queens out in the desert, Poison’s the biggest. The most dangerous. Most likely to have the biggest explosion mark their death.

He's learning there's a hell of a lot more to them than what the rumors say.

But, oddly enough, it was… good to see some of that back in them. Even for just a second.

“I don’t _plan_ on leaving this room,” Poison adds defiantly, their tone leaving no room for argument.

Raising his hands in acceptance- as Ghoul rolls his eyes at Poison- Sandman turns to Benz. He’s still a bit quieter than normal and really, he understands why.

They were all on the drugs at one point, some not quite as long ago as the others.

Sandman has, unfortunately, relapsed twice now since his initial purge of the drugs. But, he has been clean for over a decade now.

But that's the _thing_. Kids now are born addicted to it, because of the high dosage pregnant mothers are given. It’s cruel, making literal infants addicted to chemicals that stunt their emotions. Babies now barely cry, toddlers hardly ever throw fits. It’s terrifying, walking through the City and seeing stone-faced infants in their strollers. 

That’s one of the many reasons Sandman doesn’t go up to the surface anymore. Because there’s nothing he can do about that. Pregnant mothers are watched more closely than captured rebels. Better Living _ensures_ that kids come into the world craving pills.

But, before that, it was just something to help. That’s what the government called it, a solution.

Now, Sandman’s no stranger to the darker side of his own mind. He’s struggled for years getting to where he is now mentally. Lots of people struggle too. So when the City started advertising a “cure all” for anything from depression to ADHD, it’s no surprise that people flocked to it.

The worst part is that the drugs _work_. He’d had his best mental health years when he was still on the pills.

And that’s how they get you.

However, Benz is a different story. As far as Sandman knows, his mental health was _fine_ before he was put on the pills. But the second he started showing "outstanding potential" in school, the government had pulled him out of public education and sent him on a fast track to becoming a high ranking doctor. He got his second Phd at 17 years old and went to work for Better Living that summer. 

Benz says he doesn’t remember much about that time, that they had him on so many drugs that he was basically a zombie quoting textbooks. Sandman suspects otherwise, that he _does_ remember something about that time, but he knows better than to say anything.

It happened by accident actually, Benz stopping the pills. A stressful week in the lab that turned to a month from hell led to him forgetting to pick up his prescription. He’d been too busy to stop by the next day, and the next. And then suddenly Benz was in complete withdrawal.

He’d barely known Benz at that point and they’d both still gone by their City names. But he’d let the doctor sleep on his couch and tried to keep him alive as his body detoxed. And, of course, Sandman ended up forgetting to take his pills too. Then they figured it out.

So, long story short, he knows that Benz doesn’t like to think about what he did when he was under the influence of Better Living’s drugs. Having Kobra call him out the other day was hard on him. 

Though, Sandman can see that he’s got no real reason to worry. Benz is strong and there’s no way in hell one offhand comment like that, one bad day, is gonna break him. 

If anything, he’d break _Sandman_ for even thinking that.

And naturally, Benz does notice his staring. His concern at how quiet he's being. They’ve known each other so long that he probably knows what Sandman was thinking, what he was remembering. He’s probably gonna get chewed out later for worrying so much. 

“I’ll start rounds down in the med wing,” Benz tells him with no room for argument in his voice.

It’s Sandman’s turn to nod and he suppresses a smirk at Benz being the only one who will order him around in situations like this. It’s why their crew runs so well. They balance the power.

After a silent nod to O’Neal, she begins ordering the guards into groups and calling on her radio to bring together the teams. 

It’s a good plan, Sandman thinks hopefully. There will still be guards on regular shifts so the chances of something going wrong on their end is low. 

“Ghoul, that reminds me,” he adds suddenly, turning to Ghoul. “Your expertise with bombs might help us finding structural damage.”

If he knows what type of bombs were dropped, which Sandman is willing to bet he’s already figured out, then he’d be able to tell the range of their shock waves as well as the extent of damage it left behind. 

For a moment, Ghoul says nothing. His eyes a bit wide, unfocused like he’s shocked or seeing something that he can’t look away from. 

Sandman frowns, has he gone too far? Does Ghoul’s memory loss extend to his skills as a bomb expert?

But then, before he can backtrack, the look on Ghoul’s face clears and he shakes his head sharply.

“I’m staying here,” he bumps his shoulder against Poison’s- they flinch but Sandman doesn’t have time to dwell on it. “Who’s leading the team looking for the damage.”

The last part is directed towards O’Neal and she answers back without a moment’s hesitation. Sandman can’t suppress a smile because he knows she's already gotten the whole thing memorized.

“Iron Wing.”

Ghoul follows her gaze to the tall, lanky man standing to her right. He’s also one of Sandman’s oldest. Wing is older than him by a good decade but you wouldn’t be able to tell if you looked at him. He's fast, smart, and hard as hell to catch.

“The bombs they dropped were class sevens," Ghoul begins matter of factly. "Six in total inside the City. Though, the one that hit Five was different. Maybe class 8? But that one doesn’t matter. Class sevens used to be called earthquake bombs. They’re not so much explosions as they are shockwaves. They send high intensity sound waves down into the ground, rather than outwards like a normal bomb. Some of those shockwaves can break the sound barrier even after they’re in the ground, so they’re dangerous as fucking _hell_ to set off.” 

Sandman remembers learning about these types of bombs being used in the Wars. How they lead to this massive earthquake that amplified off of some huge, hole-thing out towards the middle of the country. It’d killed a lot of people, setting off chain reactions of destruction and leading to, what was then America losing the War. Of course that was all Better Living textbook materials, so Sandman wouldn’t bank on that being the whole truth.

“So," Ghoul continues. "small cracks in the infrastructure of the tunnels won’t be from the bombs dropped the other day. The ones you should look for are gonna be big, deeper than they are wide most likely, and in places where the bombs actually landed. Their shockwaves move fast but their energy dissipates rather quickly. So there’s not much chance of the damage being too far from the impact area.”

Wing nods slowly, though Sandman knows he’s soaked in every word Ghoul has said. 

If he’d had any doubts about how fucking _good_ Ghoul is, they’re gone now.

“Alright, everyone move,” Sandman orders, “we’ve already lost enough time as is.”

It’s seconds before the room is cleared. Only their tech crew, Sandman and Benz, along with Poison and Ghoul remain inside. Oh, and O’Neal. 

She’s silent by the door though, quickly typing into her small, modified pda. Most likely setting check-in times and making sure the connection between the guard’s radios are strong.

As Sandman goes back over to the computers and begins watching the various cameras and data on the screens, Benz is already making his way over to Poison and Ghoul.

“Have your memories been returning?” he asks Ghoul quietly.

Sandman doesn’t hear the answer but he assumes it’s a yes. Clearly Ghoul remembers _something_.

“That’s good,” Benz replies genuinely. “Now I know you both want to stay in here, but it’s with strong medical knowledge that I insist you take some time to go down to the mess hall.”

“We’re not leaving.”

If Benz is taken back by Poison’s tone, he doesn’t show it. Sandman finds himself watching from the corner of his eye as Benz doesn’t back down.

He laughs a little in his head at the whole immovable object meets unstoppable force paradox that’s clearly about to happen.

“You’ll be no use to the mission if you’re too weak to stand because you've gone days without a proper meal,” Benz counters smoothly, if a little smug. “That goes for you too Ghoul. _Both_ of you need to eat.”

“Then have someone bring it ‘t us. We’re _not_ leaving.”

Poison sounds so much like a teenager yelling _you can’t make me_, that Sandman has to focus on the screens a moment to keep from laughing out loud. Benz has a point though, Poison had barely eaten the other day in the mess hall. Sure, they’d gotten the nutrients and shit they needed through the IV when they were out. But they’ve been off the IV for about two days now and they’ve only had that little bit of food the other day.

They _need_ to eat. 

“No. Food isn’t allowed in here because of the computers. So, you can either go now, while we’re waiting on the others in your crew to get to the surface- which is the boring part I may add- or you can wait until they are already in the desert. Your choice.”

Poison curses under their breath, muttering a few words that even Sandman flinches at. “_Fine_. How long until they reach the surface?”

“20 minutes.”

“Be back in 15,” Poison grunts out, grabbing Ghoul by the arm and stalking out of the room.

O’Neil quietly follows behind them, her hand resting casually on the blaster she has tucked into her jacket. Sandman has no doubt they’ll be safe under her watch.

“God,” Benz groans, pushing his glasses up on his nose and fixing his lab coat in frustration. “Fucking _teenagers_.”

“They’re not _that_ bad.”

“True, I never had the privilege of knowing you when you were their age but I’m really fucking glad I didn’t.”

Sandman doesn’t turn away from the screens, watching through the cameras as Jet and Kobra make their way towards the surface. He does flip Benz off though, just because he can, and he hears his huff of pretend annoyance. Benz leaves a moment later, the door shutting behind him with a click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter things will Really start picking up, I promise. This one was just getting long so I chose it end it here.  
So. Ghoul's getting some of his memories back. And I'm sure some of you caught onto that whole tattoo on Ghoul's chest that supposedly would make him remember dating Poison. You're probably curious but I'm not really gonna say what it is, might be, until a little later. At the moment, Wander and I are working on a reference picture for All of Ghoul's tattoos. He's covered. So it's taking a while to get everything perfect because he's not Frank, they don't have the same tattoos.Maybe similar Placing and things, but not the same. When we get that done, maybe in a week or two- no later than a month hopefully- I'll share that with you guys. We've put a lot of thought and time into this already so I'm excited to be able to show it to you once we're done!  
I'll also post it on my tumblr, @honestmouse20 , when the time comes. Just in case Archive decides to throw a fit.
> 
> Anyway, I re-read the comic today. And I just have to say, Cherri Cola deserved Better. He's gonna have a part in this now. A bigger part than I was anticipating originally because I'm emotionally compromised by how the comics ending things with him. No spoilers, for those of you who've yet to read them, but yeah. He's gonna get some love in this if it kills me.
> 
> I'm really tired so that's gonna be all tonight. If I think of something important in the morning, I'll add it in down here. Thank you all for reading, I hope you're not Too worried over Kobra and Jet. Or maybe you are. I dunno.  
\-- Small addition. I fixed some word choice things towards the end of Jet's pov. Now that I'm awake, I realized I used "tightly" like 4 times in the same sentence. Also, Jet should have said "40 minuets" until they have to be at the surface. My bad.--  
If you want, fell free to tell me theories and ideas you have down in the comments. I genuinely love seeing what you guys come up with. No spoilers will be given though, and I won't tell you if you've gotten it right or wrong. I'm just curious.  
Thanks again, and I'll see you all on Sunday!


	13. Make A Wish When Your Childhood Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're all in love tonight (all in love tonight)/Leave a dream where the fallout lies/Watch it grow where the tear stain dries/To keep you safe tonight/Heat burns my skin/Never mind about the shape I'm in/I'll keep you safe tonight yeah, yeah/(Shut up and run with me!)"  
~From S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W by My Chem. It'll make sense after you read the chapter.~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS  
*drug mention  
*withdraw mentions  
*needles (kinda)  
*dysphoria  
*over use of the word fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys... I know this one's super late. I'm so sorry.  
I've had a rough week, mental health wise, and so writing was just something I didn't have the energy to do. I'm a bit better today but yeah, seasonal depression is kicking my ass.  
I have to thank @i_like_to_wander_around_here on tumblr for helping me so freaking much on this chapter. This one wouldn't be written at all if it weren't for her encouragement and support. I owe her a lot.
> 
> *Chapter title is from S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W by My Chem.*

The quiet background chatter of the cafeteria is broken by Ghoul pushing their plate back in front of them and forcefully shoving the fork into their hand.

“_Eat_.”

They glare at him sharply- a part of them wishing their hair wasn’t in the bandana so they could more effectively glare at him through their bangs. His face is set hard though, determined as he motions for them to bring the fork up to their mouth. Like they’re a toddler.

And yeah, sure, Poison’s _aware_ that they’re being impossible, just like how they know Ghoul’s only trying to help. That they’re only worrying him more.

All of that doesn’t _matter_, though. They’re exhausted- even though they_ just_ fucking woke up, which is some bullshit- and stressed and they can’t even _think_ of eating right now. Not while Kobra and Jet make their way up towards the surface. Where, soon, they’ll be walking right down the City’s streets. 

How can they just _sit _here while that’s going on?

They weren't _there_ the last time, weren’t able to protect their crew. Poison went down _first_ and no matter what the hell Jet says, that’s _not_ something that they can just_ forgive _themself for. If they had just held on a moment longer, hadn’t paused or had fought Korse just a _little_, then maybe none of this would have happened. But they didn’t fight back. That's the whole fucking _point_.

They’d just _stood_ there and let everything go to shit. Everything went wrong because of _their_ bad decisions. And they will be fucking _damned_ if this turns into that clap all over again. But it’s already like that isn’t it?

With Poison completely powerless to protect the people they care about. While those people go out and wave their mortality in the face of any Drac that happens to look over. Two of the most wanted Killjoys in the entire fucking desert just walking through the City? A fucking _horrible_ idea.

But the only one they have.

It’s the only way to get them out, to throw them out of the frying pan and into the literal fire of the desert.

And Posion fucking _hates_ it.

An icy sort of panic is running through Poison’s veins, just from the_ thought _of Kobra or Jet getting hurt without them being there. While they’re just _stuck_ here, waiting around and doing absolutely-fucking _nothing_. 

So, how in the_ everloving hell_ are they supposed to eat and rest at a time like this?

Yet, Poison knows that they can’t stop the mission now.

They weren’t lying when they said they trusted Jet and Kobra. They _do_ trust them. With their life, with each _other’s_ lives. 

Poison _knows_ that the two of them are the best- the _only_ people who even have a _chance_ of making this mission succeed.

So, yeah, it’s not like they don’t trust Kobra and Jet to do this right, to come back alive and with the kid right behind them, but Poison just… they wish that there was something more that _they_ could do. Anything other than just sitting here being damn near _forced_ to eat like they’re a cranky toddler. 

It’s embarrassing and completely unnecessary.

_And_, for the record, they’ve raised a cranky two-year old, thank you very much, and they’re _much_ more mature than the kid was. They haven't thrown a tantrum even _once_, or flung food at Ghoul’s head. Even though they sort of want to. And by sorta, Poison means that they’d fuckin’ _love_ to smear food all over his face. Just for the hell of it. Maybe then he'd stop looking at them like they're about to break.

It’s just hard- try _impossible_\- for them to just sit here and eat this stupid fucking chicken while their brother and bestfriend are on such a dangerous mission.

“If you don’t fuckin’ eat,” Ghoul warns with a harsh glare of his own- through his bangs because _his_ hair is a natural color and he doesn’t have to fucking hide it. The fucker. “I_ will_ help Benz lock you in our room until this mission is over.”

The thought of being even more in the dark and helpless on this mission makes Poison’s stomach drop like they’ve just run off the road and are two seconds from flipping the car. A feeling they know well and hate every time.

“You wouldn’t dare…” they seethe, searching for any indication that he’s bluffing.

“_Try _me.”

They spot the hint of dark circles under his eyes, likely from their nightmare earlier waking him up, along with the adorable scar on the bridge of his nose. The one they like to kiss as often as they can because it makes him blush adorably. They can see the green of his eyes, the way his emotions are so close to the surface. Right there for Poison to read. 

But there’s no bluff. Only that stubborn, tough love in his eyes and a raised eyebrow. Daring them to keep pushing.

Relenting at last, Poison sighs and leans back over their plate. They’re too tired for this and giving-in honestly takes less energy than fighting Ghoul over something so stupid. He’s just worried and they’re just stressed and- and they should probably just stop arguing and listen to what he’s saying. 

They make a show of shoveling a bite of chicken into their mouth, rolling their eyes when Ghoul relaxes visibly. As if he was far more worried than he’d let on.

Seriously, it’s not like they haven't gone a couple of days without food before. 

And, besides, Kobra’s _visibly_ lost weight since they got here. If anything, Ghoul should be worried about _him_. Not Poison. They’ve got enough to spare. A few days is nothing, nothing new or unusual. 

They do eat together though, Ghoul picking at his own plate with much more enthusiasm than they do. But that’s alright. Poison wasn’t not eating just to be stubborn, they really do feel sick with just the thought of Kobra and Jet out there without the rest of their crew. It just doesn't feel right.

On his next bite, Ghoul somehow misses that big mouth of his, smearing applesauce all over his face. He frowns adorably and starts wiping it off with the pad of his finger.

And Poison can’t help but watch, transfixed. Their thoughts slow to a crawl as they watch him scrub off the sticky food from the corner of his face.

They get a peak of the Frankenstein stitches on his wrist, the letters along his knuckles. Everything else is covered, seeing as tattoos aren’t exactly allowed in the City, but Poison can remember every single tattoo that he has anyway. The way that the dark ink stands out against his tanned and grimy skin, how detailed the artwork is. How proud Ghoul is of each of them, the way that he gladly talks about them for hours. Reminiscing and plotting his next one to whoever will listen.

But most importantly, they remember his favorite. The one that Ghoul is the most proud of, the one right over his heart. 

That one is Poison’s favorite too, and they find themself rubbing the skin over their own heart absently. They’d almost gotten a matching one, actually, were in the chair and everything. But all it’d taken was someone holding down their arm when they instinctively brought it up to cover themself.

They’d _freaked_. Scared the ever loving shit out of Ghoul and the tattoo artist. It’d taken _hours_ for them to calm down, weeks for the nightmares to stop. 

They haven't worked up the courage to try it again. Not even close.

But, to their surprise, Ghoul hadn’t been upset with them, if anything he’d been more worried than disappointed. He stayed with them, through the countless panic attacks and the way they’d _insisted_ that the med kit stay as far away from them as possible. Not that he knew _why_. But they did and they still didn’t trust themself enough to be near it.

In the present, Poison represses a shudder.

Not even Kobra knew why- then or now. They’d made sure of that.

It’s weird that their mind has gone back to it, now of all times.

Progress is slow, that much is true. But it’s still progress. They had managed to not freak, at least not noticeably, each time Benz had given them medicine or took care of them while they were down. Sure, it made their fucking skin crawl every time the needle got close to their skin. And just the thought of whatever drugs he gave them floating around in their bloodstream is enough to make them _physically_ sick- more so than they were earlier.

But they were able to calm themself down. A very big step forward if they do say so themself, being able to remember where they were and that this really _was_ to help them.

“Dude, _what _’re you starin’ at?” Ghoul asks with a smirk, his fork hanging loose in his hand.

Poison can just barely make out the wires they know are tattooed on the skin hidden by his sleeve. They let it distract them, pull their train of thought back onto Ghoul. Back to his tattoos and how each of them mean so much to Ghoul. How much they mean to Poison.

How Poison knows that at least two of them- the third is up for debate- are for them. Ghoul got something that reminded him of _them_ etched into his skin forever.

It took their breath away then, and now. Just from the thought of it.

“You,” they answer without thinking.

Instantly they freeze, terrified for a second that Ghoul’s going to catch on. 

They’re digging themself into a hole, they know this. The longer they take telling Ghoul the truth, that they were dating and so fucking in _love-_ up until Ghoul lost his memories- the worse the fall out is going to be.

He’ll probably shut down on them, refuse to talk to them or call them a creep for holding his hand and sleeping in the same bed with him when he didn’t know. Or worse, maybe Ghoul will straight up just _leave_.

Walk out and leave the crew, leave _them_. 

The panic returns then, but Poison is frozen. Anything they say could trip Ghoul’s memories, lead them right into that pit. They hate that they’re still not strong enough to tell him. Even now. 

There’s a reason _he_ asked them out.

Poison’s a coward. Yeah, they fucking said it.

They’re a coward and they’re _scared_ and they just don’t _see_\- can’t understand _why_ he’d want to be with them. It was a miracle the first time, that he fell for them at all. 

How can they expect that to happen again?

And, honestly?

Poison can’t stand the thought of losing him. Of driving him away by telling him.

Ghoul does neither of those things, not right now anyway. The smirk is replaced by a shy, almost self-conscious smile. One where Poison knows he’s asking himself why they’d be looking at him. 

He never has been able to understand just how beautiful he is, how incredible he really is. Poison’s always makes it a point to remind him that he is. 

“Why?” he asks softly, focusing on his plate like he’s thinking hard.

“Because you’re beautiful Ghoulie.” It’s under their breath and risky as hell considering what could happen if he finds out they’ve been lying to him. But it’s worth it. 

One hundred percent_ worth_ anything that could go wrong, so long as Ghoul is reminded of how much they love him. Even if he doesn’t know that’s what they’re saying right now.

Because _god_. Poison loves him so fucking much that their chest _aches_ with it. 

His face does turn red, his lips twitching as he fights not to grin. It eases something inside of Poison, seeing him be reassured like this. Ghoul can be horribly self conscious sometimes- Witch knows_ why_\- and Poison’s been slacking on keeping him aware of just how fucking amazing he is.

Just seeing him relax and be reminded of his own worth, it makes this worth it. They refuse to be the reason he’s heartbroken.

Maybe-

Maybe they should tell him?

Say it now while he’s looking at them all soft, affection brimming in his eyes like unshed tears.

What would they say though?

_Hi I know you don’t remember but me and you are totally a couple and so grossly in love that it makes Kobra and Jet sick sometimes? _

Or maybe-

_Holy fuck Ghoul I love you so goddamn much that I’m pretty sure my heart is gonna explode if I don’t kiss you right the fuck now. _

None of those seem fitting though.

This has to be perfect, delicate. If they do it wrong, say the wrong thing, then they might lose Ghoul forever.

Okay.

_Okay_.

They can fucking _do _this. They've told him they love him a billion times over. What's one more?

Yeah- yeah.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey Ghoul can I-”

“Kobra and Jet are about to be at the surface. We should head back.” Poison jumps, red flags flashing the second the unfamiliar voice speaks up from behind them. It takes them longer than they’d like to admit to realize that it’s just O’Neal. And then a moment more to process what she’s said.

The moment’s ruined, any pretend confidence that Poison had managed to muster is gone. Flooded out of their system by the heavy dread O’Neal’s words bring.

Kobra and Jet are almost in the City. They’re about to walk across the fucking streets in broad-fucking _daylight_. There’s no way in hell Poiosn’s not going to be in the control room for that.

Heart still beating wildly from their scare, Poison and Ghoul rush back to the control room. 

They’ll tell Ghoul later. When the time is right.

________________________________________

________________________________________

Kobra never forgot what it was like to be inside the City.

How could he?

He’d spent so long, the first 11 years of his life, underneath the artificial sky. Taking his pills, going to school, and just completely unaware of just how _wrong_ his life was. 

You’d think that, after all this time, the City would have changed. That new buildings would have been built and old shops would have closed to make way for newer ones.

But, walking down the sidewalk right now, Kobra knows that it hasn’t. Not really.

He and Jet pass the bakery that Kobra used to go to nearly every day after school. Unsurprisingly, the building looks exactly the same, the same people behind the counter. The same customers sporting half-there smiles.

Around them, people bustle past on the sidewalk as they rush off to their jobs. All of their faces blend together, blurring into a sea of blank stares and drugged up eyes. 

He and Jet follow at the pace of the foot traffic, walking fake-comfortably alongside business men and women, on their way to the office. Around mothers toting infants in strollers, on their way to the store or daycare. 

It’s quiet, way too quiet. 

It’s not a deadly sort of silence, people speak, but it’s in a very brief monotone greeting. Things like _Good day, neighbor_ And _Excuse me_ as people pass each other on the sidewalk. It sends shivers down Kobra’s spine and for the first time in years, he can taste the pills on his tongue.

He longs to reach out, to grab Jet’s hand and steady himself. If he freaks here, if he just starts shouting profanities simply to fill the silence with something other than fake pleasantries, they’ll be caught. And this will be over before it’s even begun.

He can’t just grab Jet’s hand though, he can’t even walk close enough for their hands to_ touch_. Physical contact, of nearly any kind, is something the City fights hard. And two guys holding hands? 

Dracs would be on them in _seconds_.

Without even turning his head, Kobra knows that the Dracs are everywhere, blending into the crowds, watching to make sure everyone stays in line. It’s more so than normal, the upped security the Youngbloods were telling them about. Thankfully though, the disguises that the guards at the entrance- or well,_ exit _of the Underground gave them are uncomfortable, but good. No one suspects them, not yet.

As much as Kobra hates it, it’s not difficult to school a blank, mild expression across his face. Even Jet’s somehow able to look as emotionless as the people around them. Which is something that Kobra hates even_ more_. 

Just the_ thought_ of Jet on the pills, of him becoming another face in this crowd, it makes any desire Kobra has of making a scene fly out the window completely. 

Jet got _lucky_, unbelievably lucky. He never knew what the pills tasted like, what the actual void of emotion feels like. Growing up outside the City was hard, Kobra knows some of the things Jet had to go through. And some of them were just as bad, maybe even _worse_ than what Kobra went through. Even still, Jet never had to relearn his own _personality_ after quitting the pills. Never went through withdrawals. Never woke up in a cold sweat because he'd dreamed he finally broke and dumped a whole bottle of mood suppressants down his throat. - a dream both he and Poison have shared.

And if Kobra has it his way, Jet never will.

So, as long as Kobra can keep from freaking out, they’ll make it to the parking garage where the AM is being stored without incident. Without Dracs finding out that two of the most wanted rebels are on their sidewalks right now. That they’re right beneath the City’s nose without them ever knowing they’re there.

Hopefully.

It looks like they’re gonna make it, actually. Kobra is quickly able to spot the obvious parking garage the Youngbloods told them about. It’s about as inconspicuous as a building can get. White brick on the outside, perfectly dark pavement leading to where the cars would park inside. There’s no giant Youngblood symbol on the side or anything, like the secret bases used to do in the old comics Kobra once got his hands on. It’s very much just like every other building on this street.

Movement to his right catches Kobra’s eyes. He doesn’t jerk his head, thankfully, but he does turn to see what it was, curiosity winning out.

He spots a random woman, rushing a bit faster than everyone else. She’s walking towards them, but on the sidewalk across the street and Kobra can see the fear in her eyes, just before she masks it with a practiced easiness. 

She’s not on the pills, he realizes with a start. Or, at the least, not a very high dose. Discreetly, she checks her watch. She’s late for something but Kobra is more focused on the building she stepped out of. It looks almost _familiar_, dragging up long forgotten memories in the back of Kobra’s mind. He just doesn’t know _what_.

He slows down his pace so that he can turn and stare at the building, to try and figure out why his head is screaming _remember_. Kobra’s not the one with the memory issues, that’s Ghoul, so he’s not quite sure why the pull of this random apartment complex is so strong. 

All at once, it hits him. The memory shocking through his system like a blast to the chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending his thoughts scattering into a billion different directions. He stumbles, suddenly dizzy and uncoordinated, nearly falling into Jet. 

He whispers harshly to Kobra, something about asking what’s wrong and reminding him that they need to keep walking, _now_.

Except, Kobra can’t get his mouth to form the words to tell Jet why he can’t. Just the thought of summoning enough words to explain that that building was his _home_, that he grew up there. That he stopped the pills in the room that you can see through one of the upper windows on the right side of the building. You can see in through the window, even from down here on street level, into what used to be his bedroom. Where he lived for the first half of his life. Where Poison’s was right beside his, barely three feet away. 

“Kobra,” Jet whispers harshly, holding tightly onto his shoulders as he sways. “What’s _wrong_?”

He still can’t get the words to come out. Can’t tell Jet that’s where he took his pills, the little white bottle sat neatly on his nightstand. He can remember doing his school work at the desk by the window, watching the people pass by down below. Kobra can still hear the quiet humming that Poison used to do, back before they were sent away. That soft tune, almost a lullaby, that they’d sing under their breath when Kobra just felt _wrong_ and didn’t know why. Before he’d allowed the pieces to connect and realized that he was a _he_ and that he wasn’t just crazy.

And Kobra very clearly remembers what it was like when Poison went away. How quiet the house was without them, how the parental droids just weren’t the same as having his sibling there with him. But when they came back, Poison was just _different_. 

They had hardly said a word, hell they could barely even _look_ at him. All they ever did after they came back was go to work, come home and eat dinner, and then hide away in their room until the whole process started over again the next day.

It had _killed_ Kobra, losing his sibling like that. They’re his best friend, have _always_ been his best friend. Putting bandaids on his scraped up knees and letting him hide in their room whenever there were Dracs patrolling the building. But that had just suddenly been _gone_. They became completely devoid of any light and personality that they’d ever shown. And Kobra had_ grieved_ for them.

For weeks he mourned and wondered if it might have been something he'd done. 

Until, he found their prescription one night, when he’d snuck into their room after bedtime and nosed around until he found the bottle of pills. They slept like a rock by that point, not even their vivid dreams remaining after whatever the City did to them. Except, what Kobra found that night wasn’t one small bottle of mood stabilizers like his own. Poison’s bottle was too big to hold in one hand, with three matching ones beside it in the medicine cabinet. Kobra hadn’t paused for a second, didn’t even _think_ of just how reckless he was being as he’d poured every single pill down the toilet. Two nights later they escaped, slinking down the old, abandoned sewage tunnel that he’d found on accident. 

Pure fucking _luck_.

There is no doubt in his mind that the same tunnel is the one that’s underneath this new parking garage.The one they’re gonna escape through.

And doesn't it feel fitting? 

“Kobra?” Jet says again, worry beginning to surface enough for Kobra to catch it in the way he says his name.

Kobra shakes his head, breaking up the memories and trying to get his thoughts back on task. But not forgetting. No. 

He somehow forgot about all of that once, or perhaps just purposefully repressed it, but he won’t forget again. The second he gets back he’s going to fucking _tackle_ Poison and never let go. And possibly punch the shit out of them.

Because, there was no way he could have known it at the time, and they’ve never said a word about it since, but Kobra recognizes the symptoms of re-education now. And the government only does that to people who they can’t control, people they want to turn into Dracs- or _worse_.

Kobra’s chest constricts painfully and his head goes light again. He can’t remember the labels on the pill bottles, not after so many years, but he knows that it was a lot. More than what Dracs take before they’re strapped into those masks. More than what _Korse_ probably takes.

That amount of drugs is only used for people in the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W program.

And Kobra fucking _hates_ Poison right now for never fucking _telling_ him that. There’s just no way that Poison didn’t know, no way in _hell_ they weren’t aware of what was going on. Because he knows for a fucking _fact_ that they must have fought it so hard that Better Living had no _choice_ but to put them through the worst conditioning they had.

Until just now, he never even realized how fucking _close_ he got to losing Poison. How just a few more weeks of waiting and Poison would have been completely _gone_. A mindless ‘crow like the ones Kobra’s shot more times than he can count. 

Neither of them would have even known the difference.

If they’d stayed just a little while longer, if Kobra hadn’t figured it out in time, Poison would have become just another ‘crow. And he would be trapped inside the City like everyone else, with no desire to leave. And why would he? When the only reason he got out was because of the fear he felt for his sibling?

So yeah, Kobra is seriously going to _kill_ Poison the second he gets back for never telling him about this. 

How have they even _kept_ something this horrible a secret for so long? But, as much as he hates to admit it, Kobra can’t focus on this right now. Jet’s right, they can’t afford to fuck this mission up. So he gives in, lets Jet pull him into walking again. 

People were just starting to notice them, and if they stand here much longer Dracs will take interest next. But later, _later_ and once they have The Girl and are back and safe, Kobra is going to tackle Poison and never fucking let go. 

Because so much makes sense now.

The parking garage gets closer and Kobra’s able to focus again, to push all of his fears and worries to the side and focus on right now.

“Tell me when we get out?” Jet asks Kobra quietly enough to where no one else can hear their conversation.

“Of course.”

Maybe Jet will help Kobra murder Poison when they get back. 

They walk through the main entrance to the garage slowly, but with enough purpose to so that they don’t look suspicious. The car is on the very bottom level, hidden and kept out of sight. That’s where they’re going, where the exit to the desert is hidden just underneath the City’s streets.

God, Kobra can’t _wait_ to get out of the City.

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

Poison’s never been so stressed in their entire goddamn _life_.

Watching the little yellow and blue dots on the screen, representing Kobra and Jet on the 2D map of the City, is not helping them remain call in any way, shape, form, _or_ fucking fashion. Especially not when Kobra just goes into a dead stop at one point.

Just fucking _standing there_.

Poison’s heart does somersaults as they wait what feels like ages until Kobra starts walking again. They can’t use the comms yet, not when Kobra and Jet are in the middle of the City. It’d be obvious, the seemingly outdated tech being quickly whispered into. So Poison has to wait until they’re _out_ to ask what the _fuck_ was his problem.

But that’s the thing, Poison _knows_ why Kobra stopped.

That street is familiar and it’s bound to be the work of some cruel as fuck god laughing down at them, for Kobra to have to go down that way on this mission.

Cursing the Witch just as quickly as they'd prayed to her, Poison realizes that they can remember their apartment well, more so than they probably should. The smell of their mother’s cooking, their _real_ mother. How Kobra would curl up in their lap so they could read to him. All small and bony. Back when the worst they had to protect him from was bullies at school.

As they’ve gotten older, the memories have faded a bit. Snippets of conversations and interactions remain. No context though. Because, as they grew up, Poison became harder and harder for Better Living to _control_. They remember a few scattered doctor visits, returning home after each with a new prescription.

And, of course, they remember losing their battle against the City’s drugs. Well, it’s more like they remember the _void_ of the memories that should be there. There was a point in their life, a few months long if they had to guess, where the pills had shut them down completely. The government had found the perfect mix and Poison had become just another drone. 

They realized it shortly after they detoxed, just what those drugs were doing to them. What they were _for_. But their memories between the Droids moving in to replace their parents and them leaving the City are nothing but blurs.

They’ve never really talked to Kobra about it, never saw a point. But watching his blinking yellow dot stand there right across the street from where they grew up, Poison knows he’s going to have questions. A fuckton of questions.

He might have been too young to realize the full extent of what he saved them from but Poison just knows in their gut that he’s figuring it out. Or worse, remembering. Kobra is smart, if anyone could figure out Poison’s biggest fucking secret, the one reason that they hate their City name so goddamn much, of course it would be their brother.

“Half ‘a runaway, checkin’ in.”

Kobra’s voice statics through the speakers and Poison’s heart leaps like he’s walked into the room. But he hasn’t. He’s just checking in and they do their best to not rip the mic out of Sandman’s hand and start talking to Kobra themself.

“How’s it looking out there guys?” Sandman asks seriously, his eyes darting over the numerous screens in front of him.

If Poison didn’t know he was doing literally_ everything _in his power to make sure this went according to plan, they’d never have agreed to let Kobra and Jet go.

“Quiet so far. We’re in the garage now. Found the car.”

“Good,” Sandman says, nodding his head as he presses another button.

A few screens to Poison’s left light up, the techs that work in front of them typing away diligently. There’s four different views of the parking garage, one on each screen. First is the front entrance, where Poison can barely see the street outside and the people that pass by. Then there’s one focused on the elevator and stairway, which look to be the only ways down to the level where the car is parked. 

The third camera is angled to show the last few parking spots that lead up to the car. Poison watches, holding their breath as Kobra and Jet come to a stop in front of the Trans- AM. 

Thankfully, no one has followed them. Poison lets their eyes rake over the car slowly, noticing each new scratch and dent even through the shity pixelated video feed.

It’s banged up but still in good shape. 

Poison feels-

Well, they’re not quite sure how they feel. 

The car’s right there, sitting proudly in it’s own parking spot with two of their favorite people standing beside it. It’s a little worse for wear, but intact.

For a second, Poison fears that seeing the car is going to be like seeing their gun. They brace themself for the blind panic, for the daggers that’ll find their way into their lungs and tear them apart from the inside out.

But it doesn’t come.

Nothing but a sense of… _relief_ as they stare at the car. It’d held so many memories for them, from saving their asses a thousand times over, to getting the baby to calm down when she wouldn’t go to sleep. The desert is a harsh place, don’t get them wrong, but as weird as it feels to say so, Poison feels like that car made it just a little easier. It kept them safe, kept them _sane_.

They can still remember painting it, wasting too much time and even more money to sit there for _hours_ just so the four of them could doodle all over it. To make it unapologetically _theirs_.

So, yeah. By some miracle, Poison isn’t hit with the debilitating flashbacks of the clap when they look at the car. They’re just… relieved that another piece of their crew, of them, survived.

They watch as Kobra stands for a moment on the passenger side, facing the camera. He’s smiling ear to ear, running his hand along the hood as he opens the door and slides in. Jet takes longer, standing on the driver’s side and staring down at the car intently, taking it in just as Poison did.

“What’s he_ doin_’?” Poison questions aloud when Jet doesn’t move for over a full minute.

Yeah, the car’s a bit bent outta shape, but it’s not like it’s ruined. Poison’s certain it’d be fixed in a day if Jet got his hands under the hood.

So, what’s his problem?

“Didn’t he like- fall on the car when he was shot?”

Ghoul words it like a question, but there’s no doubt that what he’s saying is true. Poison looks over to him carefully. He’s staring at the car, something lost in his eyes. 

Does he remember?

Or is he just relaying what one of the Youngbloods told him?

Wait, Poison was told that Ghoul went down before Jet- so there’s no way he knows where Jet fell from memory. Which begs the question of how Ghoul knew that.

“Yeah,” Sandman confirms with a solemn nod. “Yeah we found him right on the hood.” _Shit_. Shit. Fuck-

Poison’s chest suddenly feels tight, just from the thought of _Jet_ sprawled out on the hood of the car, bleeding out without anyone around him to help. Not knowing the Youngbloods were on their way.

Does he remember it?

Was he conscious as he laid there?

Once again, despite cursing her a moment ago, Poison finds themself mumbling a near-silent prayer up to the Witch. They _pray_ that Jet wasn’t actually awake during the time it took the Youngbloods to find them. Benz said it was something like 10 minutes between the bomb announcement and when they’d found them.

But 10 minutes when you’re injured and _dying_… it must have felt like a_ lifetime_. 

Another conversation that they’re going to have to have when the others get back. Because while Poison has been drowning under their own trauma, or whatever the hell it was, there’s a possibility that Jet- the last one fucking _standing_\- was awake after he went down.

Did he even know that Doc had The Girl? 

How long did he lay there, believing that his crew was gone and that he was next?

A sour taste finds its way into Poison’s mouth and they wordlessly connect their hand with Ghoul’s. Just for the support. Just to assure themself that they all really are alive. That they all made it.

His hand is warm and it fits perfectly into their own. They rub their thumb over the crow on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger, knowing it’s there without even having to look down. 

Just when Poison’s certain they’re going to have to use the comms to tell Jet to move, he shakes his head like coming out of a dream. Then he’s walking quickly over to the driver’s side and sliding in in one fluid motion.

The final camera points to the tunnel they’re using to escape. An old sewer line according to Sandman, repurposed to get the Underground’s runners in and out of the City without notice. Poison can only watch as Jet eases the car out of it’s spot and heads down into the tunnel.

The video stays on the car, switching to a new line of cameras. The screens flick from camera to camera so that they’re able to follow Jet and Kobra down. 

They hold their breath as Kobra and Jet get closer to the literal light at the end of the tunnel. The last camera captures the moment they connect their hands over the center console of the car and Poison breathes out a shaky exhale.

And then the camera feed is gone.

“Check in, half-runaways,” Sandman says into the mic, his tone very carefully neutral.

“We’re out. On the black top right now.”

A smile, a real, actual smile breaks out across Poison’s face.

“Stage one is complete then. Good job guys. It looks like no one's caught onto you yet. Let’s keep it that way. Next check in is in one hour. Don’t be late.”

“Gotcha.”

Sandman sighs as he slides the headset off of his head, instantly looking as tired as Poison feels. He runs a hand down his face, scratching the stubble beginning to grow there.

“What do we do now?” Poison asks him.

“You wanna help?”

They nod eagerly. Do people just expect them to stand here and stare at the screens the entire goddamn time?

Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that.

“Well,” Sandman begins, uncertain. “I do need someone to stay by the radio. Just for check ins and things.”

“I can do that.”

Sandman smiles, nodding his head and stepping away from the radio so that they can come over. It’s complicated, more than they’re really comfortable with. But they get the main idea. There’s a microphone on a stand and it’s connected to the little speaker off to the side. There’s also a small headset that the sound can come through as well.

“Okay,” Sandman says. “You push the green button to talk and answer. That’s the mic and uh…”

“I know how radios work.”

They don’t mean to sound arrogant but come on? He’s acting like they’ve never even used one before!

“Right,” he says, shaking his head. “Right. Sorry. Uh, you can use these if you need to. In case the room’s too loud or somethin’.”

They stare down at the headset he’s put in their hands.

“I have a bit of a hearing issue,” Sandman explains. “So I use these when other people are in the room so I can hear the transmission. You can use it if you’d like.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem kid. And, just so you know, those chairs over there aren’t assigned to anyone.”

He walks away after that, going over to talk in hushed, erratic whispers to O’Neal, leaving Poison very much confused.

What do the chairs have anything to do with the fucking radio? 

They’re just normal, plastic, rolly chairs. Nothing fancy. There’s no way they could help Poison use the radio at all. So what the hell was with Sandman saying that?

“You’re an idiot,” Ghoul says affectionately, rolling his eyes when they glare at him. “You’re supposed to _ use _ the fucking chair.”__

_ _

_ _Poison frowns. Well, yeah. _Obviously_. You use chairs. That’s kinda the point._ _

_ _

_ _“Fucking- Poison he’s telling you that since you’re gonna be here for the next few hours, manning the radio, you can slide one’a those chairs over so you don’t gotta _stand_ the whole damn time.”_ _

_ __ _

“Oh…” that, sorta makes sense. But- “but I don’t need the chair?”

_ __ _

Ghoul narrows his eyes and very obviously goes over to the chairs pushed into the space under the table in the middle of the room. He grabs one at random and rolls it over. 

_ __ _

He crosses one arm over his chest and uses the other to point down to the cheap plastic chair between them.

_ __ _

“Sit down.”

_ __ _

_ __ _

“But-”

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Sit. Down.” he says again, and when they don’t move from their spot he adds, “_Please_?”

_ __ _

“Why?”

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Because it’s gonna be a long night and you shouldn’t be fuckin’ _standin_’ the entire time.”

_ __ _

Oh. He’s… worried.

_ __ _

Like, actually worried about them.

_ __ _

Doing a quick once over on themself, Poison realizes that yeah, they’re fucking exhausted. Their head’s sore and so is their throat. The little bit of food they ate has made their stomach uneasy and the stress of the past few hours has left them shaky.

_ __ _

So, yeah, maybe Ghoul’s onto something.

_ __ _

“Thank you,” he says, like the asshole he is, when they finally sink down into the seat.

_ __ _

As much as they hate to admit it, getting off their feet does feel amazing. 

_ __ _

“It’s gonna be a long 24 hours guys,” Sandman says from the doorway. “Best to settle in now.”

_ __ _

Poison nods, even though it wasn’t directed to them specifically, and sinks a bit more into the chair. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world but it’s enough. 

_ __ _

They hate to think of how weak they still are, how just walking around like they’ve done today takes so much out of them. A part of them still wants to refuse any rest until Jet and Kobra are back. But another part of them, the part not fueled solely by their pride, knows that they’ll be no good for anyone if they’re too exhausted to help.

_ __ _

So, they don’t even say a word as Ghoul passes them water. They barely even acknowledge when he starts carding his fingers through their hair, in an attempt to help them relax a bit. It doesn’t work as well as intended but it helps a little. Helps them forget that this next part of the mission is the most dangerous.

_ __ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for some reason Poison's pov was like 50% itallics. I dunno why. It's just what happened.  
I don't really have a lot to say this evening, mostly because I'm tired. But yeah, I'm so sorry for not updating this on time. And unfortunatly I don't know when the next update is going to be. Might be next week, maybe longer. I just don't know.  
So yeah, sorry guys.  
I still love this story so much it's just when I can't give it all of my attention I feel like I'm letting it and you guys down. So I don't wanna churn out chapters jsut to keep update schedules.
> 
> Okay, enough with me being depressing as hell. I'm fine, I promise. Just a rough patch.  
But, I did wanna say that the whole Poison Scarecrow thing is something that I'm Very Excited to delve into. and nope, no context at all on what that means. Sorry.  
Thank you all for reading and sticking around. If you want, tell me what you think down in the comments or on tumblr if you'd like, @honestmouse20


	14. But Who Are You Fighting For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Be strong and hold my hand/Time, it comes for us, you'll understand"  
~The Light Behind Your Eyes by My Chemical Romance. Have I used this song a bunch. Yep. Do I plan on stopping? Nope.~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
*smoking  
*child endangerment?? kinda. Basically, the girl went through a lot of stuff and she's obviously affected.  
*talk of death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
God, it's been almost two weeks since I've updated. Please forgive me!!  
A lot has happened honestly and I haven't had much time/energy to write. First, I got a new job. So that's a thing hahaha. And then, My Chem announced U.S. tour dates. And, guess who got tickets??? Me!  
Yeah so my first My Chemical Romance concert will be in 2020. God that's a sentence I never thought I'd write. Feels good though. I'm extremely pumped.  
If anyone's going to the show in Philadelphia, I'm willing to meet up hahaha  
Anyway, on topic, this chapter has been coming for a long time. It's well deserved. My woderful friend and beta @i_like_to_wander_around_here on tumblr put it best, it's bittersweet. No spoilers. You'll see what I mean.  
So yeah, I hope you all enjoy!

The ride to Doc’s hideout is… uneventful to say the least.

Just four solid hours of Jet doing nothing but driving and staring off into space. He lets his eyes roam lazily across the rolling sand that spills off to the side of the pavement. But mostly he’s focused on Route Guano, and how it stretches out in front of them endlessly. 

It’s a boring ride, ironically. There’s no other ‘joys on the road. Not even a patrol off in the distance that they have to avoid.

There’s nothing but their car and the sun faded pavement he's driving on. Jet doesn’t let himself wonder too much though, especially with how fast they’re going. He may be a killjoy but he’s not about to recklessly put Kobra in more danger than he’s already in by driving stupidly.

Which is, partially, the reason why Jet’s glad Kobra didn’t try and convince him to let him drive. Kobra’s good with bikes yeah, but he wrecks a lot more than he lets on. Getting those perfect jumps, the ones that people four zones away end up hearing about, takes practice and practice means wiping out. Jet’s pretty sure Kobra’s broken every bone in his body at least once. But it hasn't stopped him yet.

If he pushes himself that hard just for a hobby, Jet doesn’t wanna see how reckless Kobra would be behind the wheel in a time sensitive run like this. 

So yeah, Jet’s speeding a good bit. It’s not like the old, sandblasted speed limit signs holds any real authority, anyway. But he's still far from driving dangerously.

Just because the desert _looks_ quiet, doesn’t mean that it is. He's learned that from experience.

Or it could just be his paranoia talking.

Kobra rambles in the passenger seat, a stolen cigarette dangling from his lips as he holds Jet’s hand with one of his own and gestures energetically with the other. He’s looking out the window though, watching the sand dunes and old wrecks as they pass by. Jet’s pretty sure that some of the abandoned metal heaps of forgotten vehicles that line the road are because of his crew. They’ve had too many firefights out here to really be sure, but a lot of them do look familiar. 

True to his word earlier, Kobra had told Jet everything. What he’d remembered, why he’d stopped in the middle of the fucking street- like an _idiot_, how his sibling was apparently better at lying than Jet had assumed. Which is saying something, because Poison can be notoriously closed off when they want to be.

And yeah, Jet gets it. Poison’s a secretive little shit and they probably would have _never_ told any of them about what almost happened, unless they had been asked directly. Already, he’s planning on how he and Kobra are going to go about chewing Poison a new one once they get back. Witch knows it’s well deserved.

However, he does get _why_ they kept it a secret. 

It makes sense. Why tell them about something that _almost _happened? 

Poison got out, they never got brainwashed -at least not completely. So he can see why they wouldn't want to bring it up.

All those years of literally having to hold Poison down any time he had to sew them up, from big wounds like the one on their thigh, to the cut on their finger that they got from trying to help Ghoul with his bombs. That one hadn't been very big, only just deep enough to justify stitches. But Kobra ended up having to sit behind them and pin their arms by their sides with a bear hug just so they wouldn’t fight Jet. Like they were the one who might hurt _him_. 

He’d almost just let it go, slapped a bandaid on it and called it a day. But Poison had said they’d let him sew it as long as it was Kobra who held them down. He’d compiled because well, infections out here are deadly more often than not. And it _was _on their hand, where who knows what sorts of nasty shit they might come in contact with. 

It had felt like a weird request at the time, but it makes much more sense now. Whatever happened, however far the City got in their procedures, it left a toll on Poison. One they're still paying for to this day.

He remembers how they fought Benz and Sandman when they first started to wake up. Jet’s heart aches when he thinks of what might have been going through Poison's mind in that moment. They’d been alone. Jet never should have left the room, no matter what Benz had said. 

He wonders if Poison thought that they were waking up back in the City. That it was all starting again. If so, it’s no wonder they'd fought so hard that the doctor had no choice but to put them under again.

Or was it something else? 

What else has Poison kept from them?

He, truthfully, barely knows anything about them. Just whatever they’ve slowly let slip about their past. Kobra’s, funnily enough, more open about those things than Poison is. But he’s still got his secrets. It’s understandable really, Jet doesn’t talk about how he lost his first crew and the siblings don’t talk about their lives in the City. 

That doesn’t stop the sharp pang of hurt in Jet’s chest that arises from the realization that Poison probably thought that they’d kick them out, or _abandoned_ them for this. For their past.

Like Jet would just _throw_ them out into the sand? As if they aren't the closest thing to a sibling that Jet has ever had?

Yeah, they’ve all got shit they don’t wanna talk about, but that doesn’t mean that Jet doesn’t _know_ them.

He knows they like Mad Gear, even if they’d never admit to it out loud. Plenty of times, he's heard them quietly singing along whenever one of their songs is on the radio. 

And Jet knows that Poison hates the dog food they have to eat with a _passion_. Something about the texture just makes them gag. But he’s seen them eat nothing but that for a month, so that Kobra could eat the canned beans. Because _he _hates the dog food even more than the rest of them do. 

Jet has also seen Poison right at their snapping point. It’s only happened once but that was enough. Kobra had gone down in a fight, nothing serious but he was unconscious in the sand while the rest of them fought off the patrol. Poison just sorta… lost it. Every shot they let loose after that was dead on, headshots. Single handedly- because Jet and Ghoul were frozen from shock- Poison ruthlessly took down 20 Dracs. In _seconds_. 

And Jet had suddenly understood why Poison has the reputation that they have.

So yeah, Jet knows Poison. Of course he does. They’re fucking _family_.

What he doesn’t understand is how Poison could not see that Jet and the others aren’t just going to abandon them at the drop of a hat?

Doesn’t Poison trust them?

Realistically, Jet knows that it’s probably not that simple. Poison’s probably ashamed and scared, and simply avoiding the truth was likely the best option that they could think of. He’s not entirely sure he wouldn’t have done the same thing in their position. 

It still hurts though, not being trusted.

Kobra however, is taking all of this… as well as can be expected, Jet supposes. Though, he has more of a right than anyone to be hurt by this. 

Jet can tell that he’s pissed, naturally, but there’s also that same reckless fear that Jet saw in him right after Korse shot Poison. The way that Kobra just didn’t _care_ when he went after Korse by himself. It was a stupid fucking decision, looking back on it now. 

They should have regrouped and thought out a plan.

But loosing Poison threw all logic out the window for Kobra and he'd reacted recklessly because of it.

Jet would never say that to Kobra though.

Because that’s who he and Poison are. When it comes to each other, Kobra and Poison don’t stop and think. It’s dangerous and stupid, the very reason so many in the desert fear them. It’s a well known fact that if you get between the siblings, in any way, it’s _not_ gonna be a pretty ending.

But, when the two of them fight?

Beyond petty arguments that lead to the silent treatment on both ends (until someone has a nightmare and then they’re practically joined at the hip, no matter if they’re arguing or not). It always gets resolved in the end. They’re ridiculously close so fighting over dumb shit is a given. 

But when the two of them _actually_ fight, it’s like two exploding stars on a warpath against each other. Horrible things are spit at each other in heated moments, trusted secrets are thrown out like knives. They fight hard and they fight dirty. 

Though, after one particular instance where Poison took things way too far and Jet had to hold onto Kobra’s blaster for a good month- for both Poison’s safety _and_ Kobra’s- they don’t fight as much anymore. Which is a good thing, means they’re growing or something. Getting better at talking things out at the least.

Right now though, Jet can see that same careless emotion in the way Kobra’s handling this whole situation. He can see the siblings' conversation later going one of two ways. Either Kobra will cling to Poison and become even more overprotective- very much to their annoyance. Or, he will pick a fight. One that Jet knows will _not_ end well.

He’s not sure which he prefers really.

When they fight for real, the siblings tend to get what needs to be said out into the open eventually. But it’s messy and there’s been some times when he can’t _believe_ some of the things they’ve thrown at each other.

Jet shakes his head, doing his best to push thoughts like that away. Long, quiet car rides always make him think. He assures himself that, whatever happens, he’ll be right there to make sure that neither of them takes it too far this time. 

He purposely focuses on right now. How warm the leather of the steering wheel beneath his gloves feels and how the sun shining in his eyes feels unmistakably like home. He’s missed this far more than he thought he would. 

The thought of people living their entire lives without experiencing this, without feeling the sun on your face and the wind in your hair, is something he’s never been able to grasp. He’s lived his whole life out here, can tell you which Zone you’re in just by looking at a rock. Probably. That’s what the rumors say anyway. Regardless of the truth behind such things, Jet really is desert born in every sense of the word. He lives and breathes the heat and the sand. The freedom and wildness. 

He chooses to focus on_ that_ and does his best to not dwell on what ifs. 

It’s kinda hard, considering how many what ifs there are. 

The loudest ones in the back of his mind are:

What if Kobra had never gotten Poison out? Would they have been just another ‘crow that Jet ended up taking down?

That idea alone makes Jet sick to his stomach, makes his head ache like he’s been staring at the sun for hours.

The other what ifs aren’t any better though.

What if Dracs find them? Are he and Kobra gonna be able to hold their own in a firefight?

They’re both still recovering and Jet doesn’t like their odds if they run into a patrol with more than like- _four_ Dracs. Let alone a ‘crow.

Despite his love for the sun, regardless of how much he missed it in the underground, it’s heat is beginning to get to him. He’s sweating hard, his head aching from more than the strain on his eye. Jet’s exhausted, more so than he thought he’d be. Especially so soon. But that’s what laying around for a week will do to you, he guesses. And he’s been nursing the literal hole in his chest. So that’ll probably do it too.

Kobra looks just as tired, Jet notices as he sneaks a glance to the passenger seat. He’s still talking, going on about something Jet’s only sorta listening to.

“ ‘n honestly,” Kobra drawls slowly, sucking lazily on the cigarette between his lips. “I prob’ly should’a asked Sandy for some fuckin’ sunscreen. ‘Cause I mean we’re totally gonna get burnt and it’s gonna suck _ass_.”

As Kobra rants he points frustratedly at the blistering desert sun above them and makes a face.

Kobra like this is a rare thing. He doesn’t just _ramble_ like Poison does. Most often he’s quiet, his mind going full tilt but his lips sealed shut. Through the years he’s known him, Jet’s become fluent in reading the little silent tells Kobra has, the ones that tell him whether it’s a good or a bad sort of quiet. 

Right now though, Jet’s in new territory.

He’s fairly certain Kobra’s okay. As much as he can be, by any means.

Pissed off and maybe a little scared, but okay. A little impatient to finally see The Girl after so long, most likely. But Jet can’t really blame him for that, seeing as he’s antsy to see her as well. It’s been way too quiet without her, way too depressing. She’s the reason they fight yeah, but she’s also the reason they laugh too. The reason they make sure to take just a little time to actually _live_ rather than just survive. Having her back might help some of the broken, jagged pieces of their lives come back into place.

One of those shattered fragments in Jet’s life is Kobra. 

He’d watched him get shot and Jet swears he could physically_ feel_ the lasers that went through Kobra. It _gutted _ him to see that, to be completely powerless at stopping it from happening. And he’s so fucking lucky that Kobra is sitting right here beside him. That he can feel the gentle pressure of Kobra’s hand against his own. A reminder that he survived.

And if he looks over to Kobra now, he’ll be able to see how far he’s come already. He’s healing mentally and physically from the fight, making great strides into actually being okay. Kobra barely even winces when he moves his injured shoulder anymore. He _is_ getting better, Jet assures himself.

And yet, because the world just fucking _can’t_ let Jet have anything completely, Kobra’s still worrying him. He’s still hurt. Jet can’t forget that. He may be acting fine but if either of them have to run or- hell, even _walk_ for any extended period of time they’re going to be in trouble. Not to mention in heat like this. Good medical supplies or not, they’re still recovering. As much as Jet hates to admit that.

It’s his _job_ to worry about his crew, about Kobra. Especially with the cigarette that he’s savoring in the passenger seat. 

Poison’s gonna _kill_ him for smoking it, Jet knows that for an absolute fact. Those are the special ones that are- _were_ hidden in the glove box. 

Kobra’s had two already and Jet knows there’s only one left. 

He’s not sure if this sudden smoking habit is payback for Poison keeping something so important a secret, or just to calm Kobra’s nerves. Maybe both? 

Either way, Jet’s not about to let Kobra have another. Jet hates it when any of the others smoke because he fucking_ knows_ how quickly shit like that can kill you. And you can’t run from Dracs if you’re hacking up a lung. He already gets on Poison enough for wasting their money on the things. Because they won’t listen if he tells them it’s slowly killing them. 

And Kobra’s still hurt, his mind adds yet again. As if he was just going to forget? He hates that little voice in the back of his head, the one that insists on reminding him of all the shit he has to worry about.

But, fuck… Jet should have never even let Kobra light the first one. 

The smell of cigarette smoke is barely there, ripped away by the furious wind screaming through the windows. But it still burns Jet’s nose and he very purposefully does not cough. 

His chest aches and he’s not sure if it’s from his wound or from the thought of what those cigarettes are doing to Kobra’s lungs.

“Do you think Cherri’s gonna be there?” Kobra asks randomly.

Jet looks over, taking his eyes off the road for just a moment. Kobra’s hair is wild- the long bits anyway- flying about in the rough wind from the open windows. There’s already sand coating his face, courtesy of said windows. And there is actually a slight pink tint to the bridge of his nose. Suggesting he _is_ already getting sunburned. 

Fucking _city kids_, Jet thinks fondly.

“Dunno,” he answers with a shrug. “Doc said he was. Makes sense he’d stick around.”

The Girl’s always been fond of Cherri, ever since she was small. He’d actually been the one to help the four of them figure out how to raise a baby in the first place. 

They’d found her on accident, actually. Jet can remember that day vividly.

He and Poison were on a run. It was just a normal day, the hot sun beating down overhead making Poison bitch about sweating out their hair dye. Like that was the worst of their worries. But then it was blistering laser blasts, Dracs shooting at them in weak patterns. They’d run into a patrol at some gas station out in Three but it’d taken them hardly any time at all to clear the place. They’d been turning to leave, Poison already bitching about something else -the laser blast that’d singed off some of their hair. As both of them pointedly avoided admitting that there’d been a couple of close calls- Jet had heard it. The soft, whimpering sniffles of an infant. 

They’d found her in the storage room, wrapped in faded blankets and half starved. 

There wasn’t a single second that Jet had even _thought_ about leaving her there. Not one. 

She’d been so small, so fragile that Poison wouldn’t even touch her. Jet was the brave one he supposes, bending over to lift the infant.

Best he could tell, she was only a few days old at the time. A literal _infant_. Far too young to be alone. Another day or so and the desert would have taken her. 

They’d been completely out of their depth but Cherri had-somehow- known what to do. He’d walked them through it, how to take care of her. She’d been so weak at first. None of them had wanted to get attached, just in case, but especially not Kobra. 

He’d _hated_ her. Said she was a waste of supplies and of time. But that changed the first time she started crying, a loud, healthy cry, and had only quietened down once he held her. And within a month she had the four of them wrapped around her tiny fist.

“There it is!” 

Kobra’s excitement has Jet leaning forward to try and see what he’s pointing at. At first everything that far away is just a blur of sandy grey tones and the bright blue sky blended messily together. But then he catches sight of a small, dark blur that stands out from the other colors. That must be what Kobra’s talking about.

“Is it Doc’s?” 

“Yeah,” Kobra says earnestly, “Looks like it. I dunno about any other sheds out here, anyway.”

As they get closer Jet’s able to tell that yeah, it is just a shed. Doc’s hideout is made of dark, treated wood. It’s small too, barely longer than the car. But for a secret place to stay, it’s perfect. There’s a piece of an old rusted metal roof acting as a sliding door and Jet parks within easy walking distance from it.

They’re off of Guano, but not by much, and it doesn’t feel safe to be so close to the main road. Not with how Doc’s said the patrols were around here. You’d think Doc would move The Girl someplace in the middle of nowhere, away from any main roads. Then again, they _had_ been in the middle of nowhere and Better Living had _still_ managed to find them. So maybe hiding in plain sight was the better option.

“Ready?” Jet asks, watching Kobra as he drops the cigarette bud out the window.

Neither of them have gotten out yet but the car is parked and off. The keys are in Jet’s pocket and their blasters are within easy reach. They have no reason to pause here.

But it feels necessary. To breathe just for a moment before they go in, to get his thoughts under control. 

“Yeah,” Kobra says with a sigh, his mind clearly someplace else.

____________________________________

_____________________________________

Doc’s temporary base is small. Just a simple one room shed as far as Kobra can tell, from the outside anyway.

It’s also way too close to the highway for his liking. The chances of someone seeing the hideout and mistaking it as a place to hunker down for the night are high. But Doc must have chosen this place for a reason. Right? 

Or was this the only option left?

Kobra does his best not to dwell on that idea. The Girl is as safe as she can be, given the current situation. He’d rather her be here, safe and looked after, than running around the desert by herself. 

Instead of letting himself get lost in thought, Kobra pulls out his comm. It’s almost time for the next check in and Poison will blow a casket if he’s late. As upset as he is at them for hiding the truth, he really doesn’t want to worry them. 

Leaning his hip against the passenger door, Kobra stares down Guano. He’s missed it, funnily enough. The pavement and the sand. The way the air smells like dirt and gas. How his mouth is already filled with tiny bits of grit from having the windows down. 

He_ should_ hate it. He should be more than ready to head back into the Underground where things are clean and structured. Where there’s plenty of food and protection.

But he’s not. 

_Fuck_.

He doesn’t want to leave yet. He’s not ready to go back. Not so soon. This place is his_ home_ and it’s already killing him to think of leaving it again. 

“I’ll go say hello,” Jet offers, “that ‘a way they don’t try ‘n shoot us.”

Kobra lets him go and presses the talk button on the comm right as Jet knocks on the door. He hears Show Pony swearing colorfully at the door just as he begins to speak. 

“Checkin’ in,” he says into the comm. 

His voice wavers slightly. It’s from the heat he tells himself. And the cigarettes. Not because Poison’s still directly under the City. Right under the place that nearly took them from him. No. No, it's just the cigarettes. He’s never been much of a smoker anyway.

“You’re supposed to use the code.”

Kobra rolls his eyes and hopes that Poison can hear his annoyance through the waves. Obviously it’s him. Who else would be using this frequency, at this time, every hour?

Dracs aren’t smart enough for that shit.

“Thanks, mom,” he says, just to spite them.

Poison huffs on the other end, dramatic as always. 

“How’s it lookin’ out there?”

“Quiet,” Kobra says with a sigh, letting his eyes sweep over the expanse of desert in front of him.

There’s no noise. No cars barreling down the highway just for shits and giggles. No music blasting over the waves from Doc’s station, at least not that Kobra can hear. Does this shed even have radio equipment that’d work for music? 

Clearly Doc has the tech for a functioning radio but it’s a whole other thing to broadcast music. If his music got destroyed in the blast… Kobra shivers at the thought of how quiet the desert would be without it. No music to blast while you’re running from Dracs. None of Cherri’s late night broadcasts where he just offers another voice, another presence when the weight of the darkness outweighs the warm glow of surviving another day. 

“Almost too much,” he adds as an afterthought.

“The radars Sandman has goin’ aren’t picking up much of anything, you’re right. I’d say keep an eye out, though. Just to be sure.”

He assures them that he’ll watch out for any sneak attacks, only half serious. There’s literally no one out right now so he’s certain they’ll be able to see anyone coming from miles away. 

Ending the call and carefully shoving the comm back into his jacket pocket, Kobra pushes himself off the car and heads inside. He needs to get this over with. Before he starts clinging to cactus and begging Jet to stay. 

When he steps inside, the change in brightness causes him to blink for several moments. He has to pause in the entrance and wait until his eyes adjust to the near darkness of the room.

The first thing he notices is Jet sitting on the couch beside Pony. His backpack is on the floor at his feet and he’s already halfway through one of the meal bars that were packed for them. 

“Kobra!” Pony exclaims, standing from the couch with much more speed than someone in roller skates should have. 

They fly over to him, pulling him inside further and holding him at arm's length. There’s a long pause as they look him over several times, worry bleeding through their normally carefree attitude. He instantly feels bad for worrying them.

“How’re you feelin’, sweetheart?” they ask gently, something in the slow drawl of their voice making the concern even more obvious.

“I’m fine,” he tells them, shaking out of their hold.

Pony frowns, crossing their arms over their chest and scrutinizing him with their eyes once more, like they don’t believe him when he says he’s fine.

“Pony, leave the Kid alone.”

They all turn to the new voice.

Doc rolls his chair into the room, coming in from a doorway Kobra hadn’t noticed before. This place must have two rooms then, he realizes. 

Pony huffs, reminding Kobra of Poison’s dramatics over the radio, but they do sit back down beside Jet. There’s no room left on the couch so Kobra stands. 

Doc comes over to him slowly and he can’t help but notice the weariness etched into the old man’s features. 

“It _is_ good ‘t see you two again,” Doc says with a tired smile, one that only just meets his eyes. “Pony ‘n I ’ve been worried sick.”

“Sorry Doc,” Jet amends around his mouth full of food. “But honestly, we were down for like a week ‘for we were even_ able_ t’ contact you.”

“Yeah,” Kobra adds. “And it’s not exactly been a relaxin’ getaway. But you’re right, we _should_ have called you sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kid. Truthfully, ‘m just glad to see you up and walkin’ around is all.” 

There's a stern hint to his voice, likely to make sure neither of them keep apologizing. A big part of the reason Kobra’s always trusted Doc is because he looks out for people, especially kids like Kobra and Jet. Kids fresh out of the City and in way over their heads. He looks out for everyone really. People like Cherri and runners like Pony. Anyone who needs him.

And that's part of why Kobra looks up to him so much. Because Doc doesn’t _have_ to do that, to help out so much, but he does.

That's one of the main reasons they left The Girl in his care. They knew that he'd take care of her to the best of his ability. 

“Though,” Doc adds, eyeing him and Jet carefully. “You both ain’t lookin’ like fit fiddles just yet, either.”

Jet laughs around his food and chucks a spare meal bar at Kobra’s head. He catches it easily and starts unwrapping it without even looking at the label. When you’re used to dog food, anything made for humans is a miracle in and of itself. Needless to say, he's learned to not be picky any more. Mostly.

“You should see Poison ‘n Ghoul,” he mumbles under his breath, unable to hold in the bitter chuckle that follows.

None of them are _fit fiddles_ or whatever the hell Doc just called them. Yeah, Ghoul’s almost _physically_ fine by now, but his amnesia is still kicking his ass. Not to mention Poison’s refusal to tell him the truth.

And Poison? Well they’re not as fine as they’re acting, by any means. Kobra’s known them long enough to tell they’re hiding the worst of it. But he’s not overly worried about them. Like, he’s hoping that at the moment they’re taking it easy, but he’s not freaking out about the thought of them collapsing or something any time soon.

He is however, _terrified_ by the possibility of them getting hurt again.

Witch forbid they ever have to go through all of this shit again. Kobra’s honestly not sure if his heart could take it. He would kill Korse _himself_, if it comes to that. And he won’t be missing and hitting his leg this time, that's for sure.

“And how_ are _the two lovebirds doing?” Pony questions Jet with a wink.

Pony looks tired too, just as much as Doc. Possibly even more so.

Kobra wonders how much rest they’re really getting. Even their normal flirting seems toned down, like they simply can't spare the energy it would take. Which is a first. And also mildly concerning. 

“Poison and Ghoul?” Jet clarifies, earning a nod of encouragement from Pony. “Uh… Ghoul’s a bit…"

He shoots Kobra a glance that just screams _help me_. So Kobra hurriedly finishes the food in his mouth and clears his throat to get the others’ attention.

“He lost his memories,” he explains, unable to hide the way it hurts just to _say_ it.

Doc’s eyebrows raise in shock and Pony gasps aloud. Saying it makes that wound feel fresh all over again and he’s really not looking forward to telling them about Poison’s condition.

“His memories?” Doc asks. “So, he remembers_ nothing_?”

“Bits and pieces,” Kobra clarifies, voice shaky. “He’s getting better, rememberin’ more everyday, but it’s still a struggle.”

Doc is silent for a while, letting the words sink in, Kobra guesses. It _is_ a lot to take in. 

He remembers exactly how he felt when he realized it for himself. That day when Ghoul finally woke up. He’d been so happy to see his best friend finally awake, to hear his voice again after getting so close to losing him. But that relief had been ripped away so fast that it’d left Kobra spinning.

He gets it now, understands that this is going to be a process, a long recovery, and that it’s not Ghoul’s fault. It’s no one’s fault really. Except maybe Korse’s. 

Once again, Kobra can’t_ wait _to put a laser beam between the Exterminator’s eyes.

“And Poison?” Doc asks at last, almost as if he’s afraid of what the answer might be. 

“They’re… alright,” Kobra says slowly, trying to keep his voice level. “They got th’ worst of it, really. Did Jet tell you…?”

Doc shakes his head. “He just said that y'all were all hurt pretty bad. None of th’ gory details.”

“Well, uh- basically they were… they were shot up th’ chin…” Kobra pauses as Pony gasps in a mix of shock and horror. Even Doc looks shaken. 

“They’re fine now,” he’s quick to assure them. 

Though he’s not sure if he should add in how badly the clap affected their mental health. It’d be betraying Poison in a way. Going behind their back and talking about how traumatized they were. 

_Still_ are.

As much as Kobra’s sure Doc would have some words of advice for just such a situation, it’s not worth hurting Poison like that. 

“I swear to the Witch,” Pony begins seriously, pointing an accusing finger at Jet’s chest. “The four of you are gonna be the fuckin’ _death _of me.”

Kobra apologies quietly, knowing that they’re only joking like this because the four of them_ did_ scare their friends that badly. Jet offers Pony a guilty smile.

“Agreed,” Doc adds seriously, though there’s a glint in his eyes. “Now, how long ‘re you boys stayin’?”

“Just an hour or two,” Jet tells him.

“It’ll be dark by then,” Pony comments with a suspicious edge to their voice.

They glance over to Doc as they say it and there’s something in their tone that catches Kobra’s attention. It’s more than an observation, there’s fear hidden in there as well. But that doesn’t make sense.

The night in the desert is normally peaceful. There’s no Dracs out thanks to the City’s pre-programed sleeping schedule and the lack of sun means it’s cool enough to work outside without risking a heatstroke. Kobra almost _prefers_ the night to the suffocating heat of the day. 

“You should stay the night,” Doc suggests, that same double edged tone lacing his words.

Kobra frowns, studying Doc’s face for any giveaway as to why he and Pony would be so wary of them heading out in the dark. He finds that same hesitant fear hidden behind Doc’s neutral expression.

“We’re on a schedule though,” Jet points out. “We gotta get back tonight. Other’s ‘re waitin’ on us.”

“The two of you are in no shape t’ be runnin’ around after dark out here. You’re stayin’ the night and the city slickers are just gonna have to like it.”

“What’s so bad about nighttime?” Kobra can’t help but ask.

Doc sighs and shoots a glance to Pony. They nod, giving him the go ahead for _something _and, really only making Kobra more confused. 

If there was something malicious about the nighttime, surely Jet would know. Desert born and all that. Right?

He shoots Jet a quick look but he just shrugs in return. Clearly he’s just as lost as Kobra is.

“The City’s gettin’ smarter,” Doc begins in a whisper, like he’s lowering his voice so that someone can’t hear this conversation. 

The Girl must be in the other room, he guesses. 

A part of Kobra wants to just run to her, to go in there and pull her close and _never_ fucking leave her alone again. But another part of him, the part that actually keeps him alive, knows that Doc’s not worried over things easily. He needs to hear what Doc’s going to say. _Then_ he can go and find The Girl.

“Smarter?” he prompts, risking a glance to the doorway Doc came through.

His attention is split between what Doc’s saying and the thought of the kid in just the other room.

He can’t help but wonder, is Cherri in there with her? 

Oddly enough, Cherri has always been good with kids, but especially their kid. She tried to call him uncle once, Kobra remembers fondly. Because whenever he came over he’d always bring her treats and stories. Sometimes he’d even have new songs for them to sing as she went to sleep. He wouldn’t let her call him uncle though. It’d stuck something sad in his eyes and none of them had pressed for details. 

_Cola’s just fine, sunshine_, he had told her. And it stuck.

If he’s been with her this whole time, Kobra knows that she’s been taken good care of.

“Yeah,”Pony explains under their breath. Quiet, as if saying it aloud might bring the ‘crows right to them. “They reprogrammed th’ Dracs ‘n ‘crows. They show up at night now.” Lead sinks in Kobra’s gut. 

At night, most ‘joys would be sleeping. They’d think they were safe and only have one, or maybe two if it’s a larger crew, people awake to stand guard. But if patrols show up while everyone’s sleeping… It’d be a death disco. There’s no way they’d be able to fight the City’s goons off while half asleep.

“Lotta ‘joys died that first night,” Doc continues, his voice catching on the words like they’re fighting against him. “No one was expectin’ it, you know?”

“_Shit_, Doc,” Jet says under his breath.

All the color is drained from his face and Jet looks physically sick. Kobra feels the same. 

It’s even worse than before, that guilt clawing at his throat. People fighting and dying for them is completely different than people getting killed in their sleep. All because the four of them thought they could take on Better Living single handedly. It’s _their_ fault.

It’s their fault all those people died. 

His stomach rolls painfully at that realization, at the guilt that bubbles up from his gut like acid. Those people wouldn’t have been able to defend themselves, wouldn’t have been able to defend each other. And if it’s bad enough for Doc to have spoken about it like this, with the edges of his words catching on the pain…

How are they supposed to live with themselves knowing that they’re at fault for that?

That people died, that people _continue_ to die every time the sun goes down, because the City’s pigs can adapt to nocturnal lifestyle faster than the rebels can. How many people just didn’t wake up when the Dracs attacked, too exhausted from the day to defend themselves in time.

“_Kobra_,” Jet’s voice makes him look up. “Stop that. Right now.”

He’s looking at Kobra with heavy eyes, as if he’d seen Kobra’s spiral in the midst of his own. And that only serves to make him all the more guilty. 

He does take a steadying breath though, if only for Jet. They can’t afford for Kobra to break now, even though every cell in his body is screaming for him to just lay down and give up.

How are they supposed to win this if everysingledecision that they make only causes more pain for everyone else?

“We’ve adapted fast,” Pony adds in a voice so quiet that it doesn't sound like them at all. “Goin’ basic’lly nocturnal. “M guessin’ your ride over was quiet, right?”

“Yeah.”

He remembers how still the desert was on their way here. 

It didn’t feel right. And now he knows why. 

Kobra should have listened to his gut.

“Come sunset,” Pony tells him and Jet. “All the Dracs’ll crawl outta their holes an’ the ‘joys ‘ll start fightin’ ‘em again. We’ve only seen a couple out this way, ain’t that many people on this stretch, but we can see th’ fights on th’ horizon.”

Pony’s face falls and Kobra wonders again just how hard these past couple of weeks have been for them. Clearly, all of this fighting is wearing on them. And Pony normally doesn’t even_ fight_. They’re a runner at heart, mostly harmless. But there’s a gun on their hip right now. Neon pink, because of course it is, but almost certainly fully charged.

“So,” Doc says, drawing both Kobra’s and Jet’s attention back to him. “Message your friends, tell ‘em what’s goin’ on, and then we’ll see if your kid ‘s up from her nap yet.”

Just the thought of seeing The Girl again, of holding her and seeing with his_ own eyes _that she’s okay- that he hasn’t just hallucinated all of this, is enough to crush the worst of his guilt.

How can they do everything wrong if the kid is the best thing that’s ever happened to his crew?

Kobra needs to think on all of this, to process it all over again, but right now he needs to see the kid more. 

“I’ll message ‘em,” Jet offers, though his eyes are far away. “Poison’s gonna _flip_.”

“Tell ‘em the truth. See if we can get some radar for tonight,” Kobra suggests, now concerned about what his sibling’s reaction is going to be to this change of plans. “Make sure no one's followed us.”

Jet nods seriously and pulls out his comm. As much as reassuring Poison himself would probably help their situation, Kobra needs to see the kid first. Jet will be able to explain it better anyway. 

“Can I?” Kobra asks Doc, motioning weakly towards the doorway.

“Absolutely, Kid. Just go quietly.”

He doesn’t have time to process what Doc could mean by that. His feet seem to move on their own and suddenly he’s standing in the doorway that leads to a small back room. It’s even darker in here but he is able to make out shadows. A taller one, leaned up against the wall with something in his lap. His heart leaps.

“Turnin’ on the light,” Doc warns from behind Kobra.

There’s a quiet click of switch being flipped before soft, white light fills the room. It’s a simple old broom closet from the looks of it, bare save for the pile of blankets in the corner on the right. Cherri Cola rests against the wall. He looks over to them slowly, a grim sort of sadness in his eyes. 

The shadows under his eyes are dark and he’s holding onto the lump in his arms like he’s afraid someone will try and take it. Take _her_.

All Kobra can really make out is the top of her head. He can see the mess of tangled, dark curls that pokes above the blanket and a part of him is already dreading trying to comb the knots out. She’s going to throw a fit but they’re probably going to have to get her in a bath for that. Ever the true desert born, The Girl _despises_ baths. It takes a lot of bribing and a fuck ton of begging before any of them are able to get her into one. 

But Kobra’s caught up on something else. Something’s wrong.

She’s not moving, not really.

He can see the small movement of the blankets as she breathes but that’s- that’s _it_. She’s never this still, not even when she’s asleep. Kobra swallows around the lump in his throat.

“You up sweetheart?” Cherri asks her softly. 

There’s a minuscule shake of her tiny head and the rustle of blankets as she burrows even closer to him. Cherri looks back to him and it hits Kobra just how much all of this has affected her.

“Go on. She’ll warm up ‘t you,” Doc prompts, pushing Kobra forward.

He takes a stumbling step but manages to crouch down beside Cherri easily enough. He keeps a good gap between them though, just in case it might set her off. It’s what he does whenever Poison gets particularly bad, all cagey and jumpy. He offers the comfort of his presence, but at a safe distance so that the person doesn’t feel trapped.

It breaks his heart to think of how scared she must have been for it to leave such an impact on her. 

“Kiddo,” Cherri calls, in that same soft voice that he only reserves for The Girl. “Someone’s here ‘t see you. Wanna come out ‘n say hello?”

“No.”

Her voice is muffled and there’s so much fear in that single word that Kobra’s heart shatters on the spot. He can feel the pang of it in his chest, like someone’s taken a hot knife and stabbed it into his ribs. He’s shocked when he looks down at the floor and doesn’t see his own blood pooling at his feet. With how badly his chest is hurting, he must be bleeding. This much pain can’t just come from nothing.

But it’s not _nothing_.

It’s the realization of exactly what their kid has just been through. 

She fucking watched them _die_. Right there in front of her eyes.

And there’s a chance that she saw the bomb that took out Zone 5.

She’s only _five_, she shouldn’t have to see shit like that. 

Kobra and the others should have been there to protect her. To keep her safe.

His breath catches when he tries to exhale some of the tension in his burning lungs. He looks up to Cherri desperately, not even sure what he’s asking of him. It’s not like Cherri can fix this, erase what the kid’s seen and make her better. 

Kobra gets a soft smile from him though, understanding and sympathetic. It doesn’t help as much as he needs it to.

“C’mon sunshine,” Cherri tries again. “I promise it’s a good surprise.”

The Girl doesn’t move. She just grips tighter to Cherri. He holds her closer as well and mouths an apology to Kobra. But it’s not his fault. 

It’s Kobra’s. 

They weren’t able to keep her safe. This is his crew’s fault that she’s so broken. They’ve fucked up the one good thing in their lives. She was their one saving grace. Proof that no matter what horrible shit they’ve done, they had at least one thing to be proud of.

“Baby girl?” Kobra whispers, afraid that if he raises his voice any more that it’ll scare her. And that’s the absolute_ last_ thing he wants to do. “Hey, kiddo, it’s me.”

His voice breaks and he has to clear his throat to keep the sob that’s building up in the back of his throat at bay.

It gets her attention at the least. He watches, both terrified and excited as she shifts under the blankets and peaks her head out just enough to look at who’s talking to her. There’s a moment before she spots him. But when she does, her eyes go wide and Kobra watches the disbelief wash over her.

“Kobes?” she asks.

Her voice is so soft, barely there and Kobra’s heart shatters even more. He’s crying now too, not even concerned that Cherri and Doc are right there. It doesn’t matter.

Because The Girl is alive, she’s alive and okay and she’s right here in front of him!

They didn’t fail. Not completely. The City didn’t win. They didn’t take her away.

It’s worth it, every single thing that he’s struggled through since she was taken. It’s all worth it to see her healthy right now. And maybe they’ll be able to fix this. Maybe she’s shaken by all of this, but maybe… maybe it’s not permanent. 

Maybe they didn’t fuck this up completely, after all.

Before Kobra can talk himself out of that hopeful realization, The Girl scrambles to get out of the blankets.Cherri half sighs/half chuckles as he helps her break free, a mix of relief and amusement finally crossing his face. And then Kobra gets the breath knocked out of him as she tackles him full force. He nearly falls backwards but he manages to catch himself with his right hand just in time. 

“Kobra,” she whimpers, her face pressed into his chest and her arms squeezing his waist.

She’s light, more so than he remembers her being. And she’s absolutely _shaking_ in his arms. He can hear her desperate, hiccuping sobs right next to his ear.

Kobra wraps his arms around her as tightly as he can, one hand going behind her head to keep her just that little bit closer. He presses his face into her curls and breathes her in. 

There’s a soft knock on the doorframe but Kobra doesn’t even look up, can’t bring himself to let her go just yet. 

Very slowly, those scattered pieces of his heart are being mended back together. It still hurts, bad enough for his breath to catch every time he tries to take a deep breath. But it’s getting better. 

Arms wrap around his side and he manages to look up enough to meet Jet’s eyes.

He looks just as broken as Kobra feels, his gentle brown eyes filled with unshed tears. Jet fits himself right on Kobra’s side, his arms further pulling The Girl in. Kobra hiccups and it turns into a sob of his own. 

As the tears begin to fall again Jet kisses both of their heads slowly, softly. 

“Jet?” The Girl whispers without moving her face out of Kobra’s chest.

“Yeah, babygirl?”

She squirms a little and Kobra reluctantly lets go so that she can sit up. For a moment she looks down at her hands, twisting them like she does when she’s going to ask something she’s not sure she should.

“Did the Witch send you?”

“Wha…” Jet shakes his head in confusion. “What ’d you mean, honey?”

“You… got ghosted,” she explains slowly, like she’s trying to wrap her head around the concept. “So the Witch must’a sent you back.”

Kobra swears that his heart can’t take breaking like this again. But it does and he has to fight to keep his breathing steady. Is it possible for his heart to just _stop_, for this pain to kill him. With how badly it hurts, he’s almost afraid that it _can_.

“Ava, baby, c’mere,” he says, instead of breaking down like his body is begging him to do.

She listens though, scooting forward so she can sit in his lap sideways and still face Jet too. Her hands fist into his jacket, holding on so tightly because she thinks he’s just a ghost. Here to say goodbye.

His breath stutters as he tries to think of what to say. Jet pulls them both against his side this time, so Kobra can lean his head on his shoulder and the kid can stay curled up on Kobra. 

“Honey,” Kobra begins slowly. “I am _so_ sorry that it took us so long ‘t come back to you but… but we’re not ghosts, baby. We’re back for good. I _promise_.”

Wide brown eyes look up at him, so full of love and trust.

“Promise?” 

“I _swear_ Ava, we’re _never _leaving you again.”

“I love you,” she says, a grin finally breaking on her face.

“We love you too, baby girl,” Jet assures her seriously, pulling her over so he can kiss her forehead. 

It makes Kobra smile, a real, genuine smile. 

He can’t wait to get her back to the Underground. He’ll have Benz look her over, just to be safe. And he’s certain that Poison is going to cry more than _he_ did once they see her.

“I hate ‘t break this up,” Doc says from the doorway. Kobra has to crane his neck to the side just to see him. “But the three of you need ‘t eat… and I've still got a few questions for you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe this one was literal hell to write and I dunno why.  
But, I've added in three new characters all at once, Pony, Doc, and Cherri, so I should have expected writing those scenes to be a bit harder. Honestly though, I'm pretty happy with how this turned out.  
Like I said, Cherri will be getting the Love that he Deserves in this because the comics break my heart. So don't worry. We'll be seeing him more! : )  
Also, Jet really had a long as hell bit at the beginning of this chapter where he just Ranted inside of his head. Wasn't intentional. But I like it. I mean, there is some repetition with what he's thinking but he's stressed and these issues aren't something you just think about once.  
Also, another thing I've changed from cannon. -along with basically everything- The Girl didn't run after Sing. In the comics, minor spoiler, she ran from Cherri and Doc once they got back to the desert. For this story, with how much younger I made her, I feel that her fight or flight was really just, find the closest safe person and cling to them. I.e. Cherri.  
Another thing, we finally know The Girl's name!  
I didn't wanna like, shoehorn it in there. So I went them more subtle route. But yeah, I love the name Ava and it just feels like it fits her character ya know?  
and, the last of my rambling I promise, there's a Twenty One Pilots reference in there. If ya caught it.
> 
> So, yeah, thank you all for reading. And for putting up with my mini break there. I'm still working on my mental health but I'm definitely better than I was a couple of weeks ago. So, since I'm technically not starting my new job until the 25th, I will have plenty of free time. And that means I'm going to try and get the next chapter out one week from today. Hopefully. The next one is the climax of this act, and something I"m so f*cking excited to share with you guys.  
If you want, tell me what your think by leaving kudos, commenting right here on A03, or yelling at me on tumblr @honestmouse20  
See you next week!!


	15. Jet Star and The Kobra Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS  
*alcohol  
*violence  
*injuries/blood  
*suicidal thoughts/actions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!  
Thank you @i_like_to_wander_around_here on tumblr for all of her help with this! She's amazing and this wouldn't be half as good without her help!!  
Also, big news!!!  
This fic is going to be two parts. yes, you heard right. It's getting a sequel. Sorta. basically i have so much plot that it's gonna be almost impossible for me to fit it all in one fic. If I were to try, I'd still be updating once a week until probably December. Maybe later.  
So, I'm going to cut it in half. This first part is a little over halfway done, with about 10-15 more chapters left. After that, I'm gonna take a break. Focus on another project I've been working on, and then come back and start posting the second part to this fic. My goal is to start posting the "sequel" around November, with my other fic spanning the summer months. Fingers crossed.  
But yeah, don't freak out. I'm not leaving it on a cliff hanger or anything. But it will be "unfinished" in the sense that the second part will be the ending of the story. You have some time though. Like i said, 10-15 chapters are left. Maybe more.  
Alright, that's all. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> \--edit. Archive was being weird and time-stamped this for yesterday. So I just changed the date to today. So if it double uploaded I'm sorry!--

“What’d you wanna ask us?” 

They’ve all moved back into the main room of Doc’s base, gathered around the ancient couch. Kobra’s pressed next to Jet’s side, the kid asleep in his lap. Doc’s chair is next to Jet with Cherri leaning on the wall beside him. 

Pony’s laying on the floor, their legs stretched out beside them as they prop themself up onto their elbow. 

Everyone’s already eaten. A quick meal of canned beans, Doc’s treat. Jet hadn’t realized how hungry he still was. But once he was full and sleepy, he had made sure to thank Doc profusely.

Just because they’ve been eating well back at the Lobby, doesn’t mean that people in the desert have the supplies to just _waste_ like this. And Jet does feel sorta bad for scarfing down his so quickly, but at the same time, he was_ hungry_. It’s not like the food was being _actually_ wasted. It went to a good cause.

But now that they've all eaten, and The Girl’s gone back to sleep, Jet’s anxious to hear what Doc wanted to talk about.

Surely there can’t be _more_ bad news?

Right?

The past few weeks have been nothing _but_ bad news and Jet’s honestly not looking forward to any more. Not that it seems like he has a choice on the matter.

“Ah…” Doc says slowly, scratching at his facial hair as if he’s thinking of the right way to word whatever it is he wants to say. _That _can’t be a good sign. “Well… honestly, could be nothin’. I might just be a paranoid old man.”

“But?”

Jet has the feeling that whatever's on Doc’s mind, it’s important. He can count on one hand how many times Doc’s been wrong about shit like this.

Doc may be paranoid, but his gut feelings have saved Jet’s life more times than he can count.

“But,” Doc repeats. “But what you said about Poison, how they went down. It got me thinkin’.”

“What about ‘em?” Jet asks.

Kobra’s running his hands through The Girl’s hair, attempting to pick out the numerous tangles. It’s no use, not without water and some praying. But it seems to be calming him- and her- so Jet doesn’t mind holding up the conversation with Doc.

Poison’s near death experience was hard on Kobra. It’s understandable that he wouldn’t want to acknowledge it like this, for the second time today. Definitely not with the whole S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W thing earlier.

“You said Korse shot them,” Doc questions bluntly and Jet nods, unsure if his voice would work right now. “That’s what’s not addin’ up. Korse is an _Exterminator_, one of the best. He doesn’t just _miss_. Not that close. And not with fucking _Party Poison_ right in his hands.”

Jet frowns and glances down at his hands. He tries to read between the lines, figure out what Doc’s getting to. 

Yeah, Korse is one, if not the _most,_ highly trained Exterminator Better Living has ever produced. But even he was human at one point. Fuck ups happen. 

“Are you saying he missed on purpose?” Kobra demands lowly, his face set hard as he stares at Doc.

“Maybe. I dunno kid,” Doc amends, one of his hands motioning for Kobra to take it easy. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

Kobra sits back a little against the couch but Jet gets the feeling the only reason he didn’t jump up and start outright demanding Doc to explain himself is because of their kid still dozing in his lap. She shifts a little in her sleep, disturbed by the raised voices, but the second Kobra’s hand goes back to detangling her curls, she stills once again.

“Let me explain my reasonin’ kid,” Doc tries in an even tone. The one he uses to keep two crews from killing each other over stupid shit. “You told me Korse had ‘em against a wall and the gun literally_ against_ their skin.”

“Yeah…” Kobra answers without looking up from The Girl.

Jet eases his arm around Kobra’s shoulder and, thankfully, he leans into his touch rather than shrugging him off. 

He gets the feeling that Kobra’s remembering Poison getting shot. The way they just _fell_. 

Jet can still see it. Can still feel that lurch in his stomach as he watched one of his best friends go down like that.

They’d been gone almost instantly, according to Benz. 

But they’d felt it. There was a moment where Poison was still awake, able to feel everything. And that makes Jet hold onto Kobra just a little bit tighter. 

“So, how then would the Exterminator _miss_?” Doc questions, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s wishing one of them would prove him wrong.

Jet’s mind draws a blank. When it’s worded like that…

Well, there’s no way that Korse could have just_ missed_ like that, is there?

Jet doesn’t know what to do with that information, if it even is true. If Korse missed on his killing shot…

“They moved.”

Jet turns his head to look at Kobra, confused by the complete confidence in the way he’d spoken. 

“What?” Jet asks incredulously.

“They moved,” he says matter of factly. “Poison moved or flinched or… _somethin’_ and Korse’s shot didn’t kill ‘em.”

Jet blinks once, his mind a whirl as he tries to process this too. So, maybe they just got lucky?

I mean, a fucking blaster under your chin is a damn good reason to flinch if Jet’s honest. And it just might have been what saved Poison’s life.

It makes sense.

“That’s possible,” Cherri speaks up, pushing off the wall easily and coming over to stand in front of the two of them.

Pony makes a frustrated noise at being blocked out of the conversation but Jet doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“An’ I’m not sayin’ that either of you is wrong or right,” Cherri says, “… but I dunno. I’ve got a bad feelin’ about this. It’s a _miracle _that all four of you survived. And I’m damn glad you did… _but_…”

“But you think it’s too good to be true,” Jet finishes. “That we should be suspicious.”

Cherri winces but he doesn’t disagree. He starts playing with the rosary wrapped around his wrist.

“When do any of us have that kind of luck?” he says under his breath. More so to himself than to Jet and Kobra. “Just… think about it, please?”

Jet nods and for a moment he fears Kobra’s going to keep pushing this, demand that there’s no way it wasn’t anything other than Poison’s… _quick thinking_ or something that saved them. It’s a younger sibling thing, the way that Kobra sometimes just refuses to admit Poison is wrong or that they didn’t mean for something to turn out the way it did. And while he’s not worshiping the ground they walk on or anything, Kobra does still tend to take their side without thinking it through. 

Just not all the time. 

Not when the two of them are fighting. And not right now it seems. 

“That’s all we ask,” Doc adds.

“Pony,” Kobra calls suddenly, a bit too loudly.

It makes Jet flinch. 

The Girl stirs in Kobra’s lap again and she blinks slowly as she wakes. Two sleepy brown eyes find Jet and he can’t help but smile, despite everything. She’s right here beside him. Safe enough to nap like this, to wake up and not worry about having to run for it.

Safety like this is rare, and relative.

Any second a Drac or a ‘crow could come bursting through that makeshift door. And Jet can’t know for a fact that they’d be able to take the pig down before it did some real damage.

But, they’re as safe as they can be.

Five rebels, all armed and hidden from the City’s goons for the time being. And The Girl trusts them to keep her safe, that’s why she’s so relaxed. She blinks slowly again, one small fist coming up to rub at her eyes. The little charm bracelet that Poison helped her make- what feels like ages ago now but couldn’t have been more than a few months at most- dangles on her exposed arm where her jacket sleeve has ridden up. 

It makes something warm flow through Jet. A warm… proud sort of feeling. Where he knows that she’s safe, that she’s got the chance to be happy again. 

He plans on keeping his word. It’ll take the end of the fucking world before he leaves her like that again. And, depending on your definition of the end of the world, Jet’s already living in the end of times. Society is fucked, the government is one giant corporate entity, and he has to fight for his life every goddamn day. Hell, he’s never known anything _else_.

So yeah, unless the universe can come up with another apocalypse that’s _worse_ than this one, he doesn’t plan on not being there for their kid ever again.

“Did you manage t’ salvage us anythin’ to drink?” Kobra continues, startling Jet from his thoughts. 

His voice sounds tired and worn. Jet wonders if he could convince him to go to sleep first. Witch knows Kobra needs the sleep.

Pony’s brows knit together and they push themself up to sit cross legged. They look at Kobra a long moment.

“We’ve got a bit of water in th’ back. But I thought your fancy new City friends packed you some water.”

Pony’s right. Sandman did pack them water. One large metal canister- that somehow keeps it cool despite the heat- and two additional small bottles. There’s no way Kobra’s already out. And if he is, he should’a just asked Jet. He doesn’t mind sharing.

“No,” Kobra says with a short laugh. But it feels off. Almost self deprecating. “Like, alcohol. Somethin’ strong preferably, but I’d do with anythin’.”

Jet’s stomach drops. 

Yeah shit’s going down but… well, he didn’t think it was bad enough that Kobra would want to drink to get away from it.

Kobra must know that they’re all looking at him. But he doesn’t show it. He just keeps messing with The Girl’s hair. She’s already asleep again. Which, Jet is sorta glad for. 

They try to keep Kobra and Poison’s… well, it’s not a _problem_ exactly. Neither of them are the type of people Jet would classify as a drunk. But they _do_ drink. Whenever something goes really wrong or there’s something big they’re worrying over. Both of them can, and do, drink far too much in those circumstances.

It’s frustrating, when Kobra gets like this. When he’s bottled everything up too much and now Jet has to put a stop to this before it gets out of hand.

A part of Jet hopes that Kobra’s stronger than that. That he’ll have one drink to help him sleep and then that’ll be it.

But he knows better. That might work for Jet, for Ghoul. Saying they’ll only have one drink and then really only having _one_. But with Kobra and Poison, one drink never stays one. 

Jet has picked Kobra out of puddles of his own sick so many times, _too many_ times. It always hurts to see him like that, so down that he felt like the bottle of alcohol was the only thing that could help him.

But Jet _always_ picks him up off the floor, in every sense of the phrase. 

Always. 

He does the same for Poison. Because these are his _best friends_. Hell, Kobra’s his boyfriend. 

Jet cares too much about both of them to just leave them while they’re down. He knows he can’t stop the siblings from drinking, it’s a losing battle, but he _can _offer them someone to talk to when they’re finally ready. 

“Uh…” Pony’s clearly at a loss for what to do. But their hesitance betrays the fact that they _do_ have some form of alcohol in the building. 

Jet knows from experience, sometimes it’s easier to let Kobra have it first, and _then_ try and get him to talk about why he wants it. 

That plan works about 50% of the time. 

Pony clears their throat and shoots a glance at Jet. “I think we grabbed some. In case one’a us got hurt or somethin’. It ain’t much.”

Kobra doesn’t answer at first and Jet notices how The Girl’s watching them. Awake again. She must not have been completely asleep then. But she looks mostly confused, fortunately. It looks like she hasn’t caught on just yet. 

Jet sorta hopes she never touches a drink in her life. Not that that’s at all possible. Everyone drinks out here. You have to sometimes, with this kinda life. 

There’s much worse things to be addicted to, anyway.

“One drink,” Kobra says simply, his voice carefully guarded. “Just one.”

Pony nods and stands smoothly. They rummage around in a stack of boxes next to the couch, muttering as they go. Glass clatters and paper rustles as they search.

Jet sorta wants to point out that he’d told Poison they were leaving first thing in the morning. But doing so would only make Kobra think that Jet assumed he was going to have too much. Which isn’t the case.

Jet trusts him, he _has _to trust him. Because if he can’t trust Kobra to only have one when he says that’s all he’s going to have… how would he be able to trust him on anything else? 

And normally, Kobra makes no such promises, giving Jet hope that he’s actually not going to get drunk tonight.

So Jet says nothing. But he does let the still groggy kid crawl into his lap when Pony hands Kobra his drink. It’s in an old can that’s had the label removed but it looks to be mostly clean.

Kobra takes a long, slow drink. 

“I’m takin’ watch,” Cherri says abruptly.

He goes outside quickly, without waiting on any of them to acknowledge what he’d said. Jet can’t help but feel weird about the blaster he saw on Cherri’s hip as he’d turned to go out. Seeing him with a weapon is strange.

Cherri hasn’t fought for a very long time. Since before Jet was old enough to know the difference between a cactus and a surveillance camera. Granted, the cameras_ were_ disguised as cactus. 

But, just like how Better Living no longer uses plants to spy on the rebels- they now prefer just patrolling the Zones in their huge, clunky vans filled with Dracs- Cherri’s changed with the times too.

Despite how many years it’s been, Jet has no doubt that Cherri would take out as many of the City’s pigs as he has to.

Jet doesn't know a lot about Cherri's past. He’s a private guy. More quiet than Kobra. 

But Jet does know what those strange scars that cover almost all of Cherri's skin mean. He can recognize a wavehead easily enough. Or well, an _ex_ one.

Whatever Cherri's been through, it happened long before Jet started carrying a blaster and hanging out with a redheaded fire bomb and a bleach blond angel. Or the four-foot-three gremlin known as Ghoul. 

“Jet?”

He looks down at The Girl. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

She opens her mouth but closes it quickly. Her hands fiddle with Jet’s jacket, occasionally brushing over the tender, healing skin of his chest. But he doesn’t stop her.

She’s a lot like Ghoul, actually. With the need to fidget as she thinks, especially if it’s something that’s worrying her. How she bites her lip as she considers what to say.

“What’s on your mind?” he presses gently.

Kobra’s head comes to lay on his shoulder, a pleasant surprise. He hasn’t taken another sip for a few minutes now. Jet realizes that he really does only want one. He’s honestly extremely proud of Kobra and, in lieu of saying that outright- and earning an eye roll from Kobra in return- Jet presses his lips to Kobra’s forehead. It’s not really a kiss, just his lips resting against the warm skin for a single moment before he sits back up. But Kobra melts against him, humming pleasantly at the affection.

Jet sorta wants to kiss him properly, and at length, but he’s still waiting on the kid to tell him what’s on her mind. The Girl looks back up to him and she starts nervously messing with a long strand of hair that’s fallen in her eye. He boops her nose gently and it has the intended effect. 

She scrunches her face up and giggles, batting Jet’s hand away. Her face falls again after just a second though.

“Poison ‘n Ghoul?” she asks at last.

Her voice is quiet again, fragile like it was in the other room. Jet’s soft smile falls and he flails as he tries to think of how he can explain this to her. 

“They’re okay,” Kobra answers for him. “Both of ‘em.”

The Girl’s eyes go wide, like she hadn’t been expecting that answer at all. Then they narrow, like she’s caught them in a lie. Like the time Tommy’d gotten a shipment with kid’s vitamins in it and she’d seen them crushing the little tablets up to put into her food. She’d looked at them just like she is now. 

With more age in her eyes than she should have. And enough defiance to give Poison a run for their money.

With the vitamins, she’d demanded to know how they considered themselves better than the City when they were putting medicine in her food. Of course, she’d used different words. But they’d still all been frozen in shock as the then three-year-old stormed out of the room. A toy in hand and the canned beans still on the counter. 

It’s funny now, looking back, but at the time they’d all felt thoroughly chastised. The vitamins are still in the cabinet in the back room as far as Jet’s aware.

So, recognizing the look in her eyes that tells him the info she knows isn’t adding up, Jet braces himself for the talking to of a lifetime, from a five-year-old no less. 

“Why aren’t they with you?” she demands, one brow raised.

Kobra snorts- the little shit- but he turns it into a cough before she catches on. Great, looks like he’s not going to be _any _help. 

“They’re in our new… uh hideout,” Jet tells her, cursing himself for stumbling over his words. 

Kids can smell fear, he’s sure of it.

“And why was’it a good idea ‘t not bring ‘em with you?”

Kobra turns to bury his face in Jet’s shoulder so she can’t see him smiling. Even Doc’s pretending to do something in the corner with Pony. Leaving Jet alone with the thoroughly pissed off kid. Some friends they are. 

“We _had_ to, sweetheart. Easier ‘t do this just th’ two of us.”

“But you always say ‘t go in threes,” she points out smugly. 

And rightly so, Jet hates to admit.

After they realized, hey, we actually stand a greater chance of _not_ getting shot if we make our runs a three person thing, that had quickly become a crew rule. But this was also an extraneous situation.

Jet’s heart aches, to just_ think _of Poison out in the sands again so soon. The heat alone would probably get to them, with how weak they still are. He’d never say that to their face of course, at least not in those words. But he knows that Kobra and himself are the only members of their crew strong enough to do this run right now. 

“Well,” he begins slowly, attempting to figure out how to word this for her. 

If he talks down to her she’ll get defensive and upset, and he’d never want to talk to her like that anyway. But if he uses too many details of _why_ the rest of her crew isn’t here, then he might scare her. 

“Well?” she asks, leaning forward and resting her head on his chest.

It’s adorable and sweet and _completely_ different to the third degree she’s currently giving him. Jet thinks he can forgive it, especially when she wraps her tiny arms around him and closes her eyes. God she’s so _small_.

She’s so young but also so grown up. And yet she still trusts him enough to cuddle up like this despite their conversation. When she opens her eyes and looks up at him, obviously waiting on his answer, his heart melts on the spot. 

“They needed ‘t stay back, make sure th’ hideout stays ours, ya know?”

She nods against his chest. 

He sucks in a breath at the weird…. Well it’s not quite _painful_ but it’s uncomfortable with the weight of her head directly over his wound. Jet doesn’t want to, but he shifts her so that she can lay more on his right side and takes a shaky breath at the dull ache left over in his chest. 

Kobra gives him a look, now that his face isn’t buried in Jet’s shoulder to hide his laughs. It’s a knowing look, like he knows Jet’s sore. 

He shakes his head slightly, to assure Kobra to not worry. 

They’re not going to talk about how he’s hurt. It’ll only scare The Girl and she’ll feel bad if she knows that she caused him pain. 

“Can I see ‘em soon?” The Girl asks softly, her voice heavy again with sleep.

“Yeah, ‘course kiddo,” Jet assures her, nodding even though her eyes are closed and she can’t see him. “We’re headin’ out tomorrow. We’ll seem ‘em both by tomorrow night.”

He leaves out the part where they’re going to have to make it back through the City to do that. And how the extra disguise in Jet’s bag suddenly doesn’t feel so foolproof when it’s her life that’s on the line. 

Most importantly, he doesn't tell her that Poison’s hurt. That Ghoul probably won’t recognize her when he sees her. There’s a very likely chance that she’s _not_ one of the few things he still remembers.

But those are worries for another day. For tomorrow. 

Right now, Jet leans his head against Kobra’s. 

Kobra twists a bit and presses his lips against Jet’s in a brief kiss. He tastes of alcohol but it’s not overpowering. The rest of his drink sits, unfinished, on the armrest of the couch.

The Girl’s asleep again, mouth parted as she snores quietly. Her hair is in her face, somehow more tangled than it was earlier. Jet, for once, can’t wait to have to wrestle her into a bath. 

It’s something he didn’t think he missed.

Yeah, he’d missed her smile. Her laugh when one of them would say or do something stupid. How small she is, curled up in his lap. How much he loves her….

All of those things he had actively missed and thought about. He’d thought about all the trillions of ways that he would tell her he loved her if she’d been next to him. How much he wished he could hug her.

Now though, he finds himself without words. 

He loves her so much that three words just don’t feel like enough.

Because he would do absolutely_ anything_ for her. He’d go into the City, fight the Director herself if he had to. So long as she could be safe. 

He’d do anything she needed. He’d gladly force her to take a bath. Scrub behind her ears and clean all the little scrapes she’s bound to get through the course of the day. 

Each time she gets hurt, Jet swears that his heart stops. 

Thankfully, she’s never been seriously hurt. Not yet. 

Scrapes mostly, and a burn once when there was a clap. A Drac had backed her into the campfire and she’d fallen backwards, catching herself on the hot ashes with her hand. 

She’d been_ three_.

Jet can still hear how she’d cried and tried to pull away from him as he’d cleaned her up. It hadn’t been bad, barely even a first degree burn. But she’d been in_ pain_ and he hadn’t been able to make it go away.

He’d felt completely useless, as he wrapped the cleanest bandage they had around her tiny hand and kissed it gently to make her feel better.

She doesn’t cry much anymore. 

When you deal with death everyday, small things like burns or cuts aren’t worth the water it takes to cry.

But right now, she’s crying. 

She’s still asleep, as far as he can tell. But there’s tear tracks down her cheeks.

Jet wipes them away carefully, gently, and kisses her forehead. He tries to pour every ounce of love that he can into the action. So that he can erase the damage that their absence has done to her. 

She’s too young to worry about her family dying. And if Jet has it his way, she’ll never have to worry about that again.

Poison’s words echo in his ears. 

About how they’re tired of fighting… 

He wonders if they’re considering what he’d said, about staying in the Underground and fighting Better Living from a different angle. 

He’d said it as a comfort, to try and counter the overwhelming guilt in their eyes. The way every word out of their mouth was filled with so much _hate_ for themself that it made,_ still_ makes, Jet sick to his stomach. 

But that could be their chance, staying in the Underground.

The Girl would be a thousand times safer. She’d have good food, medicine, the promise of her crew watching her grow up…

As much as Jet loves the desert, he’s not shocked to realize that he’d give it up in an instant so that she could have a life like that. Suddenly seeing the sun rise and set along the horizon isn’t worth more than watching The Girl grow up.

“Get some sleep,” Pony says from across the room. 

Doc’s already on some sort of pop up bed, his back turned to the room. It looks modified, built so Doc can get in and out easily and rest comfortably. Jet hadn’t seen Pony transfer him over, he’d been too lost in thought. 

For a second he almost offers to get up, let Doc have the couch. But the pop up bed actually looks pretty comfortable and Doc’s probably already asleep. 

“What about you?” Jet asks stubbornly, resisting the urge to rub his tired eyes like a child. 

“I’m takin’ th’ shift after Cola.”

Jet nods slowly, suddenly very aware of how tired he is. He’s fairly sure Kobra’s already asleep on his shoulder. There’s drool seeping through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Wake me up when yours is over,” he tells Pony. “I’ll take the last.”

“You don’t have to, Jet.”

There’s a softness in their words, a concern that he’s only seen them show a handful of times. One being when he and Kobra got here earlier today. 

Pony was worried for them, a lot. And Jet feels bad for the stress he must have put them under.

Pony isn’t… they’re_ odd_. Not everyone understands them well enough to see how good of a person they really are. Most people see the tights and the flirting and assume some pretty awful shit. Some of the _names_ he’s heard people call Pony…

But, if you don’t have your head up your ass, you can see how much Pony really cares. They always take care of Doc, protect him when they have to. And they’re smart too. Jet’s seen them keep up with Kobra’s tech rambling _multiple_ times. They even helped Ghoul disarm a bomb once.

And despite how selfless Pony is, even they can’t mask the relief that passes over them when they realize they won’t have to stay up for two shifts. 

He says they’re selfless because well, Jet’s _seen _them handing the kid sweets that he knows they’d been saving for a special occasion. But The Girl had stumbled upon the candy when they were watching her for a day… and Jet and the others had come back to her with her face covered in chocolate. Three days before that, Pony had told Jet they’d smuggled that candy right out of one of the bakeries in the City. They’d tested it and there’d been no drugs, so they’d snatched it and ran. 

He knows they’d been looking forward to eating it. 

So yeah, long story short, Pony is a lot more than polka dot leggings and a flirting smile. 

It’s funny. Nearly dying has made Jet realize how much he really has to lose. How many people he loves, all in their own unique way.

It’s overwhelming, and terrifying, but he loves them. Cherri and Doc. Pony and Ghoul. Poison and Kobra. And The Girl… 

He loves them all. So fucking much.

_________________________________

________________________________

Kobra wakes up in Jet’s arms.

It’s a rather nice way to wake up, if he does say so himself. Something he hasn’t gotten to enjoy properly since everything happened.

His eyes are only half open, most of his body fighting to keep him half asleep. He’d slept like the dead, though it feels like it’s only been an hour since he’d fallen asleep.

His head is on Jet’s shoulder, using him as a pillow. It’s comfortable, even though he can’t see Jet’s face from this angle. But he can see The Girl, sleeping soundly in Jet’s lap. Her face is just below Kobra’s and he can see each of his breaths moving tiny strands of her hair. 

The morning sun is still soft, gentle as it peeks through the cracks of the makeshift door. This place doesn’t have any windows but just that little bit of light is enough to drive away any claustrophobia Kobra might have creeping up.

Every time Jet breathes, deep full breaths, Kobra can feel the movement. He’s sleeping hard and Kobra prays that it’s still too early to wake him. Selfishly, Kobra wants just a moment longer. 

Just a few more minutes to soak this in, to relish in having two of his favorite people right here with him. 

He only gets about five minutes before Jet’s blinking and stretching as much as he can with the two of them on top of him. He looks down to Kobra and, finding him awake, smiles so softly that Kobra swears he’s dead and this is the afterlife.

Jet frowns when he notices the sun peaking in.

“What’s wrong?” Kobra asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t want to wake the kid. He gets the feeling she hasn’t been getting enough sleep as is. 

“Pony said they’d let me take th’ last shift.”

Kobra doesn’t know why Pony decided to let Jet sleep, but he’s glad for it. Jet needs his rest too, especially since they’re heading back today.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Kobra tells him, closing his eyes again.

He tries to soak in the fleeting seconds of this moment. How warm Jet is, how well Kobra’s head rests on him. Like he was made for Kobra to snuggle up to. 

Kobra shivers pleasantly when Jet’s hand starts gently playing with the soft hair at the base of his head. 

__________________________________________

__________________________________________

Kobra lets The Girl slide into the back and he hands her the toy robot once she’s buckled in. She smiles and takes it, holding the toy close to her chest and giving Kobra a quick nod. 

Looking over the roof of the car, Kobra watches Jet double check that they have everything. Kobra’s blaster is fully charged, snugly in his holster and he has an extra charge pack already in his jacket pocket. 

They’ve also still got a good amount of food, water, and the medical supplies that were packed for them. There’s also a backup radio in one of the bags and a few more charge packs for their blasters.

Satisfied with their supplies, Jet packs everything back into their bags and slides Kobra’s across the roof of the car. 

“Got your comm on you?” Jet asks him once they’re inside the AM.

Kobra nods and pats the pocket where he’s keeping his safe. Jet doesn't respond and he turns the key, causing the engine to roar to life. 

Pony is waving animatedly from the door of Doc’s base, with the doctor himself sitting in the doorway next to them. 

Cherri is walking over though, his expression blank.

Jet rolls the window down as Cherri comes up and Kobra leans forward a bit to see what he’d wanted to say.

“You have our channel too,” Cherri tells them, leaning with his arms resting on the window sill. “Promise you’ll call if ya need us, kay?”

Jet promises and, seemingly satisfied, Cherri goes back over to the shed. He stands next to Pony, waving slightly. 

Kobra and Jet share a confused look and he gets the feeling that Jet’s just as lost as he is by Cherri’s words. But, if they want to get back on time and not risk Poison losing their shit for them being late, they have to go now. 

Jet glances briefly to The Girl in the back seat. Kobra watches her smile at them through the side mirror. But the grip that she has on her toy gives away her fear. 

He can’t help but remember how scared, how _young_ she looked curled up in Cherri’s lap when he’d found her. If Kobra can help it, he is never going to let her get that scared again.

The City and their pigs be damned.

As they pull onto the rough pavement of Guano, Kobra fishes the comm out of his pocket. 

“Checkin’ in.”

The reply is instant and he gets the feeling that Poison was waiting by the radio for his call.

“How’s it lookin’ out there?”

They’ve given up on the codes. It felt like too much time wasted when they both know exactly who’s calling. Plus, it gives Kobra time to actually talk to his sibling a little.

He misses them, so what?

“Already gettin’ hot out. But no pigs out jus’ yet.”

Jet hits the gas a little more, until they’re pushing a hundred. Kobra’s not the only one anxious to get back now, it seems.

“We tried ‘t get that radar ya’ wanted goin’,” Poison says slowly, like an apology. “But all the radiation with th’ recent bombs are interferin’. Radio is only workin’ ‘cause Stakes did some fancy thing t’ it beforehand. We didn’t have time to make a whole new thing for th’ radar.”

Doing this without radar, not knowing how close the Dracs really are to them, it’s going to be difficult. But, at the same time, they’ve never had a radar before, so Kobra’s certain they’ll be able to manage without one now.

“It’s fine,” he assures them, putting a little force behind his words so that they believe him. 

“Good, uh… do you have the kid with you?” Poison asks after a moment.

It’s a dumb question, one Poison already knows the answer to. Jet had told them last night that the kid was with them and that she was okay. But Kobra knows what they’re trying to ask. 

“Yeah, wanna talk to her?”

There’s a sharp breath on the other end and Kobra glances to the kid in the back, at the way she’s watching him have this conversation with wide eyes. 

“Please,” Poison whispers, their voice breaking.

So Kobra twists around and hands her the comm. 

“Poison wants t’ say hi baby girl,” he tells her, making sure she’s got a good hold on the comm before turning back around.

He doesn’t listen to the conversation but he does hear The Girl sniffling once or twice, as if she’s fighting not to cry. He gets the feeling that, on the other end, Poison’s losing that fight.

Still, he doesn’t listen in. 

Instead, Kobra watches the sand pass by through his window. He thinks of his conversation with Doc before they’d left. How he’d tried to thank Doc, to tell him that they owe him big time for everything he’s done for them. But Doc hadn’t let him insist that they pay him back in some way. He’d just smiled and told him to stay alive. 

After about three minutes, The Girl taps Kobra’s shoulder and hands him back the comm. He shoves it back into his pocket. 

____________________________________

_____________________________________

The desert was quiet again today. And maybe that was Kobra’s first clue that something was off.

Kobra saw them first, the Dracs.

They were right in front of them, about a mile away.

Jet had sworn loudly, for some reason making Kobra finally remember the swear jar that sits on the counter in the diner.

He forgot about that soon enough though as Jet hit the breaks and yanked the wheel. They skidded off of Guano and slid sideways in the sand. Within a split second Jet had the car straightened up again and going off to the right, horizontal of Guano. 

Kobra twists out of his seatbelt and leans with his upper body out of the window. The sand filled wind stings his face and eyes, but he can clearly see the patrol car as it veers from the pavement and begins following them. He’s just about to slide back inside when movement from their left catches his eye.

It’s another patrol car… wait, _three_ patrol cars coming down Guano just the way they’d come. 

Kobra curses loudly and slides back into the car.

“We’ve got four tails,” he tells Jet quickly, already pulling his gun out of its holster.

Jet looks through his side mirror and lets out a long stream of expletives as he sees what Kobra is talking about. The swear jar would be full by now.

“Plan?” Kobra asks, his voice somehow sounding more calm than he feels.

He’s terrified yeah, but the adrenaline is starting to kick in. 

It’s like when he rides his bike at the track. The danger kicks something in his head and the fear- and sometimes the logic- just fades out. 

“We can’t outrun ‘em,” Jet says quickly.

He slams the breaks and yanks the wheel again, this time spinning the car a full 360 before bringing it to a full stop. Distantly Kobra wonders if he should take Jet to one of his races, see what he can really do behind a wheel. 

But those thoughts are pushed aside as Jet pulls his blaster from it’s holster.

“We stand our ground,” he tells Kobra. “We can shoot better than them _and_ we’re smarter. We have th’ upper hand.” Kobra can only nod.

“Kiddo,” Jet continues turning around to face The Girl in the back seat. “Stay in the back, get down behind the seats. And do _not_ come out, no matter what. Me or Kobra will come an’ get you once it’s safe. Okay?”

She nods and slides down into the space between Jet’s seat and the floor. Curled up with the toy, Kobra reaches his backpack over to her.

“Keep this in front of you, yeah?”

Again she nods but there’s more fear in her eyes than he’s ever seen. It breaks his heart but he doesn’t have time to try and comfort her any further. 

The cars are getting closer, close enough for Kobra to hear the dull roar of their engines. It sounds too smooth, too quiet to be any sort of rebel vehicle.

Jet’s praying when Kobra looks back over, his hands folded around his gun and his mouth moving quickly in a silent prayer. Kobra doesn’t believe in the Witch much, but he sends up a simple _please_ to her anyway. 

Jet is done quickly and he nods once before holding his gun up and getting out of the car. Kobra’s boots hit the sand as the first car makes it to them.

It parks neatly, coming to a gentle stop about a thousand yards away. He can’t see who’s inside and no one's gotten out yet. A pit begins to sink in his stomach at the thought of it being the Exterminator. 

Kobra follows Jet’s lead and the two of them keep their guns raised as they make their way around to stand in front of the AM. 

It’s not until all four vehicles stop that the first person gets out of the startling white cars. 

It’s a Drac. Just a Drac.

Kobra lets out an inaudible breath.

This is clearly a higher up Drac, but a Drac all the same. And_ none_ of them are very smart.

They have a chance.

“State your name and business,” yells the Drac.

It’s voice is void of emotion, flat. Shivers run down Kobra’s spine.

“Wouldn’t_ you_ like ‘t know,” Jet calls back.

Is there a chance these patrols don’t recognize them?

That they won’t know who they are until Kobra and Jet have ghosted them?

“Come quietly or we will have no choice but to use extreme force.”

Kobra rolls his eyes. Like there’s a chance in _hell_ they’re going quietly. 

He notices Jet relax, how he shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, the way his gun is now pointed directly at the Drac, ready to fire. Kobra gets ready too, letting anything other than the fight at hand fall to the back of his mind. 

His breathing slows, his mind clears, and he knows that he won’t miss a single shot. 

Jet starts firing first and just like that, every Drac is out of their cars. They shoot blindly at Kobra and Jet, their aim for the most part complete_ shit_. But with this many, someone’s bound to get in a lucky shot. 

Kobra doesn’t plan on letting them live long enough to get the chance. 

Laserbeams fly all around him. Some are a bit too close for comfort, others so far off that he doesn’t even see them. One hits the hood of the car behind him, nearly going through his hip in the process.

Kobra steps to the side, trying to draw their fire away from the car and kid hiding inside. Jet steps in the opposite direction, leading about half of the Dracs to aim at him. 

Kobra’s mind is blank now. His only thought is of the gun in his hand and the Dracs he’s aiming at. He’s taking down a lot of them and as he slowly makes his way forward, towards the cars, he’s starting to have to step over the fallen ones. But he doesn’t look down, doesn’t focus on anything else.

At one point, the charge dies in his gun. He changes it in a blur and is shooting again before the Dracs could even take advantage of his momentary pause.

It’s going well, he allows himself to realize. 

Which, of course, was his mistake. 

He shoots at the Drac nearest to him and it falls without a sound, blood already soaking into the burning sand. Kobra steps over it without looking down, attention already on the six Dracs shooting at him from behind their car doors.

He’s just about to pull the trigger and take out the closest one when the Drac that he was stepping over grabs his leg. He goes down hard. 

He falls backwards and the back of Kobra’s head hits the sand hard enough to make him black out for a second. When he comes to a moment later, his mouth tastes like blood and the Drac that tripped him is dead. His arms shake as he drags himself up. 

His movements are slower now, his head pounding as he tires to aim for the Dracs. But his vision is blurry, more so than normal. He misses a shot.

Spitting the awful copper taste from his mouth, Kobra tries to steady his hand and take out the closest Drac. He misses again, hitting the car door instead of the Drac.

Perhaps seeing that Kobra is quickly losing his battle with consciousness, the Dracs advance. They come out from behind their car doors and start shooting more quickly, aiming only at him. 

Kobra keeps shooting, somehow. His vision is growing dark now and he should probably be worrying about how hard he hit his head. But he can only just keep his focus on his blaster, on aiming it at the Dracs as they get closer. 

Then his knees buckle. 

For a second he blacks out again. When he comes to, his arm is thrown over Jet’s shoulder and he’s being hauled up. 

His head spins as Jet shoots at the remaining Dracs with deadly accuracy. He all but drags Kobra over to one of the patrol cars, abandoned now that they’ve taken down so many of the pigs. But not enough. There’s still too many and Kobra’s head is still pounding. He’s so dizzy, the world swaying and tilting even though he can feel the warm metal of the car behind his head. Kobra leans against the car, his head lolling as he fights to stay awake.

“Kobra!”

He blinks and finds Jet crouching in front of him. Kobra tries to speak but he can’t seem to make his mouth form the words. When he sees that Kobra’s barely clinging onto consciousness, Jet frowns deeply and starts patting him down.

“Are you hit?” he asks desperately, a shrill edge to his voice. 

Kobra goes to shake his head but it only makes the throbbing pain in the back of his head worse. He nearly pukes as his head spins like he’s drunk.

“No,” he manages through gritted teeth. “Hit ‘m head.”

Jet curses and peaks above the hood of the car they’re hiding behind. He lets out three shots in quick succession before falling back down beside Kobra.

He’s covered in sand and dirt, his hair windblown and he smells like smoke. Or maybe that’s just all of the smoke in the air that Kobra’s smelling. 

When he catches Kobra staring, his face falls. 

He glances down to his gun and takes a deep breath before jumping up to shoot over the hood once again. 

“Go Kobra,” he shouts over the noise, his voice nearly carried away by the wind. 

Kobra doesn’t follow and he tries to stand up to give Jet some help with the Dracs. He doesn’t make it far, just shifting so that the car isn’t supporting him anymore makes his head spin and he nearly loses control over his stomach again. 

Scrunching his eyes up and willing the dizziness to fade, Kobra only manages to look up when two hands come to rest on the sides of his face. 

“Kobra,” Jet says softly, desperately. “I love you.”

“I l’ve you too.”

His tongue feels too big for his mouth and his mind is too fuzzy with pain to understand why Jet’s acting like this. He knows somethings wrong but he just-

“Go,” Jet says again. “Make a run for th’ car. I’ll hold ‘em off.”

_Now_ Kobra gets it. 

Somehow, he finds his voice.

“No,” he shouts, shaking his head out of Jet’s hands and ignoring the pain it causes. “No no no _no_. _Jet_-” His voice cracks and Jet’s smile is watery. 

“Take th’ car and get the kid back home,” he tells Kobra. 

It’s an order, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kobra feels like his world is crashing down around him. Everything he’s known, everything he’s loved falling down around his feet. 

Because Jet will _die_ if Kobra leaves him here. 

He’ll get ghosted by the Dracs and then the City will have him and-

“No, Kobra. Please,” Jet begs, leaning around the car to shoot at more of the Dracs.

“_I can’t_ _lose_ _you_.”

Kobra’s heart is breaking again. This is the worst pain he’s ever felt, he’s sure of it. No laser blast could ever hurt as bad as this does. At the thought of leaving Jet here, alone to _die_. 

“No,” he whispers, too quiet for Jet to hear over the noise of the fight around them.

You know what?

No. Just, _no_.

Fuck that.

If they go down, they’re going to fucking go down _together._

Everything else can go fuck itself.

Kobra is _not_ leaving Jet here.

“No,” Kobra says again. Louder. 

“What- no. _Kobra, please_.”

Jet shoots again and Kobra’s pretty sure he hears one of the Dracs fall.

“No. I’m not fuckin’ _leaving_ you.”

Kobra spits again. He doesn’t spare the red stained splatter in the sand a second glance. Shaking the last of the dizziness from his head, Kobra stands and starts firing again.

______________________________________

______________________________________

“They missed their check in.”

Ghoul looks up from the map he’s studying. 

Poison’s face is twisted in worry, their hands anxiously playing with one of the wires that runs to the radio.

Glancing at the clock on the far wall of the control room, Ghoul realizes that Poison_ is_ right though. Jet and Kobra are late with their hourly check in.

“Maybe they hit a deadzone? Spot where the radiation is interfering with the comms,” Ghoul offers with a shrug.

But Poison just shakes their head. Their eyes are a bit too wide, a bit too far panicked for the five whole minutes that Kobra and Jet are late by. As if they know something is already wrong. 

They look up sharply and Ghoul follows their gaze to O’Neal. She’s standing in the doorway, a blank expression on her face as she watches over them. 

“Call Sandman,” Poison demands sharply. “Somethin’s wrong.”

She doesn’t argue, perhaps seeing how much Poison is panicking. O’Neal nods and pulls out her radio.

“Hey,” Ghoul tries, putting his hand on Poison’s forearm. “It could be nothing.”

They look at him like he’s insane.

“When is it ever_ nothing_?”

He doesn’t have a response to that.

They yank their hand out of his loose hold and stand just as Sandman comes bursting in. He’s got a plastic cup in one hand and a radio in the other. 

“Lemme see,” he says, all but shoving Poison out of the way to get to the radio.

They grumble but step aside as he starts pressing buttons.

“It’s workin’ just fine,” Sandman explains under his breath as he flips a switch. “Did you try and call out?”

He spins around to face the two of them, one eyebrow raised as Poison huffs impatiently. 

“Of _course_ I tried fuckin’ callin’ ‘em,” they spit, eyes narrowed.

No one else in the room is paying attention to them. Maybe they’re used to pissed off rebels yelling at their leader. Ghoul doubts it.

Sandman doesn’t retaliate though, he just sighs and turns back to face the radio.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” he begins slowly. “Let's give it another half hour. If we still don’t hear back from them, me ‘n my crew will go and bring them back.”

“A half hour!” Poison fumes, stepping forward and into Sandman’s space. “If they ain’t already ghosted they fucking _will_ be by then!”

“Poison,” Sandman tries, clearly attempting to calm them down. “We can’t do anything rash. We don’t know-”

“Exactly! We. Don’t. Know. My_ baby_ fuckin’ _brother_ could be bleedin’ in the sand right now and you want me to _wait_!”

“Until we know for sure that something went wrong, yes,” Sandman counters, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a step towards Poison.

Clearly, they’re not used to people standing up to them like this because a look of legitimate shock passes over their face. It’s gone in an instant though, replaced with something far darker than the desperate anger they held a moment ago. Ghoul doesn’t have a name for it but he knows somehow, deep inside him, that this is the part of Poison that he genuinely fears. 

“Uh, sir?” 

They all turn to one of the women at the computers. She’s older, with long dark hair. Her face is grim. 

“We’ve got reports of a firefight in the Zones. Four patrols in one place.”

“Is it where our team is?” Sandman asks.

She winces and nods. “Sorry.”

Ghoul spins around when he feels someone butt past him. Poison’s already halfway to the door by the time he turns. He rushes to get to them before they make it to the hallway but thankfully O’Neal beats him to it, planting herself in the doorway to keep Poison in. 

“Let. Me. Through.” Poison growls.

The hair on Ghoul’s arms stand on end. Everyone’s looking at them now, watching O’Neal as she just shakes her head and doesn’t move out of the doorway.

“Poison,” Ghoul tries. He hates the way his voice breaks. 

“I have to go an’ get them.”

Poison won’t turn around but Ghoul can see how heavily they’re breathing. It scares him, more than he’d like to admit. Poison’s scaring him. 

“You _can’t_,” Ghoul tries, keeping his voice as level as he possibly can. “We’re gonna send the Youngbloods out ‘t get them, remember? They’ll bring Kobra and Jet back.”

“No. _I_ have to get them.” 

There’s something resigned in Poison’s voice, something broken. 

“You’ll _die_ if you go after them by yourself,” Ghoul pleeds, taking a step towards them.

Poison spins around. Their eyes are hard, their mouth pressed into an unforgiving line. 

“_Good._”

Ghoul gasps and he takes a step forward without meaning to. He’s right in front of them now, his hands go out to their shoulders. They shake him off roughly. 

“_Poison_…”

They didn’t mean it like that, they _couldn’t_ mean it like that. Right?

______________________________________

_______________________________________

It’s enough to snap them out of it.

The way Ghoul says their name- like he always does when they’re being particularly stupid or wreckless.

But still, they can’t bring themself to care. Not when Kobra and Jet are _gone_. Possibly for forever. The City’s finally taken them. 

And really, what more does Poison have to live for at this point?

Ghoul doesn’t love them anymore and The Girl was probably killed along with their brother and Jet. 

They should care. They_ should_ let Ghoul hold them back and comfort them or whatever the hell he wants to do. 

But they just don’t care anymore. Simple as that.

Their crew is their family, their life. 

So why should it _matter_ if they’re already dead?

“You’re not leaving,” Ghoul demands, stepping forward to grab their arm tightly.

There’s something fierce in his eyes. Something they haven't seen since he lost his memories. They’re just too numb to care enough to figure out what it is. 

The moment he says that, the rest of the Youngbloods come through the door. Stakes looks confused as he takes in the scene around them. How Poison’s standing with Ghoul gripping their arm so tightly that it’s starting to hurt. With O’Neal only stepping out of the doorway to let them through.

How Sandman’s standing there with so much emotion in his eyes that it makes Poison _sick_.

Stakes walks over to Sandman without a word, bending over to mess with the radio. Benz frowns deeply and finishes hooking his holster around his waist. 

Poison doesn’t think they’ve ever seen him with a gun. 

Phantom though… Phantom sees right through Poison. Down into their soul, they can feel it. Into the churning pit of rage and fear and _guilt_ that feels like it’s burning them up from the inside out.

Suddenly, the control room is the last place they want to be. 

Ghoul’s grip has slackened slightly and Poison is able to easily yank free. They push past Phantom, refusing to give him the chance to read them a second longer. O’Neal doesn’t try to stop them this time. 

They take off down the hallway as fast as they can. Poison can’t breathe, they can’t _think_. They’re not crying, not that they can tell. But this feels like something that is too much for something as simple as shedding a few tears.

Poison’s entire body is screaming, their chest heaving as their legs burn from the strain they’re putting on them. They keep running.

Maybe if they run faster this tearing, _ripping_, ache in their chest will be left behind. 

A hand grips their shoulder and Poison freezes in terror as they’re pulled so hard that they fall backwards. They crash down on whoever stopped them. 

It takes one look at Ghoul’s face, at the wide panic and concern in his eyes, and that’s it. They let out a gross sob, one that feels like it rips their _lungs_ apart as it breaks free. All the fight leaves them the second the first tears fall.

And they cling to Ghoul. In the middle of the hallway, with almost their entire family _dead_, and they cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'd end my days with you, in a hail of bullets"  
~Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance~  
I'm sorry


	16. Heaven Help Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And the punchline to the joke is asking/someone save us"  
~Heaven Help Us by My Chem~
> 
> " "Yeah, it's cool, I'll be okay"/I felt your pain wash over me/I dry your eyes and hide my shakes/I hate the look that's on your face"  
~.joyriding. by Frank Iero and the Cellabration~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS  
*graphic depictions of grief/mourning  
*death  
*violence  
*graphic depictions of wounds  
*blood and injury  
*medical stuff? I guess. Just adding it to be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
Sorry for the hell of a cliffhanger on the last one. I felt like Rick Riordan at the end of Mark of Athena, leaving you guys like that. But, fear no more. Next chapter is here. Whether or not it fixes things... well you'll just have to read and find out XD  
As always a huge thank you to my friend i_like_to_wander_around_here on tumblr for betaing this and for her encouragement! 
> 
> *Chapter title is a song by My Chem by the same name. I've used it before but i love it so oh well.*

There’s only two Dracs left.

The first is the high ranking one, the leader of at least one of the patrols as far as Jet can tell. It might be in charge of all four. At the moment it’s hidden behind a car door, sporadically standing to shoot at Jet and Kobra before taking cover again. The other Drac, which appears to just be a random one, is using a nearby Joshua Tree as cover. Jet’s managed to kill all the others, the ones Kobra didn’t kill anyway. But even though the remaining Dracs are barely hidden, Jet _still_ can’t seem to manage to get a clear shot at them. 

Two Dracs should be easy, doable, even now.

But Kobra’s _down_. 

He’d helped Jet take out most of the remaining Dracs for a while. But then he’d stumbled to slide down behind the van a few minutes ago and just_ passed out_. Which, considering the fact that he hit his head, is very concerning. 

Jet hadn’t seen him fall, so he doesn’t even_ know _how hard he hit his head. But the smear of red on the back of Kobra’s head and down his neck makes Jet’s stomach sick. Even after he passed out, the bleeding hasn’t slowed down as far as Jet can tell.

With Kobra out cold and The Girl still hidden in the AM, Jet’s quickly running out of options. 

And, just his luck, he’s starting to slow down as well. His aim is faltering. Most of the shots he takes land on the metal of the car instead of the Drac, or they clip the bark of the tree. It’s frustrating, knowing that he could do better if he wasn’t so _tired_, if he could give just a little more. If his head wasn’t pounding so hard from trying to focus his vision enough to shoot. If he had both of his eyes.

But none of those things are things that he can change or can fix. He can’t focus on them, it’ll only get him and Kobra killed faster, but Jet doesn’t know what else to _do_. 

He knows when he’s losing a fight, when the enemy is simply better. This is one of those times. He only has two options. Keep fighting and try and take these last two out, or die trying. The third way, just giving up and letting these Dracs take them in, isn’t even an option in his mind. He’ll die first.

Either way this goes, Jet isn’t going to go down without a fight.

So, he keeps shooting.

Maybe he’ll get a lucky shot in, take the Dracs out without anyone else getting hurt. He has to stay optimistic, at least somewhat. If he allows himself to doubt, then he’ll never get out of this.

Jet aims for the Drac’s head poking out above the car door. He misses, the shot going too far right. The Drac isn’t even hurt. It keeps firing back, it’s shots getting closer and closer to Jet. 

Once he takes the Dracs out, Jet thinks to himself, then he’ll be able to properly take care of Kobra. 

He’ll be able to make sure The Girl is okay once he gets the second one. Fuck… she’s probably _terrified_, all alone in the car. Hearing the fight but not able to tell how it’s going. He feels horrible for leaving her like that, but it’s not like before. Jet has to remind himself of that. He hasn’t gone far this time. In fact, he can see the car easily from here. All he has to do is turn his head in that direction. He could probably shout and she’d hear him.

All he has to do is take out these last two pigs, and then he can get back to her. Make sure she’s not shaken up too much. Make sure she’s not hurt. 

And he can patch Kobra up and they’ll be _fine_. They’ll all be fine. 

Simple enough, right?

His heart is hammering in his chest, strong enough for him to feel it in his finger as he pulls the trigger again. He misses. 

The sun is burning above him, heating the air and making it so hot that it’s hard to breathe. Sweat beads down his face, his hands shake. His head throbs.

But one look over to Kobra and Jet knows that he can’t stop now.

Kobra’s stubborn; Jet should have _known_ he wouldn’t just leave when Jet told him to. But if he’s made his head injury_ worse_ by continuing to fight-

A laser flies right past Jet’s face, hot enough to burn the skin of his cheek. He hisses and retreats back against the car they’re using for cover. Breathing heavily, he brings a hand up to his face where his skin feels like it’s burning. Just that little bit of contact stings and when he pulls his hand away he sees blood. 

But it’s not deep and therefore, not important. 

Jet takes a deep breath, in a somewhat feeble attempt to take control over his pounding heart, and stands again. He fires rapidly, aiming first for the Drac behind the car door again. It’s closest, close enough to where he _shouldn’t _keep missing. When he misses for the fourth time, Jet quickly starts aiming for the other Drac hidden behind the tree. The next shots he takes aren’t much better.

An engine roars in the distance and Jet starts praying.

Let it be help. Another ‘joy, a friendly face. 

Anything but another patrol.

_Please_.

He misses yet again and his gun makes a high pitched whining sound. Jet curses, probably too loudly, and falls back down beside Kobra.

That was his last battery pack. And he’d watched Kobra use his own refill.

There _should_ be a spare one hidden under Jet’s seat in the car, where the kid is hiding, and in their bags, but that’s a good thousand yards from where he and Kobra are right now. There’s no _way_ he’d be able to make it over, get the charge, _and _get back without the Dracs shooting him or Kobra. And Jet’s _not _about to leave an unconscious Kobra in the middle of a fucking firefight. Fuck that. 

So, in short, he’s out of options and thoroughly screwed.

The engine sound is louder now and he can tell the moment the tires go from pavement to sand. 

_Please_, he prays again. 

If the Witch has ever listened at all, if he’s _ever _done anything she’s approved of, he prays that she’ll help them just this one time. 

The sound of car tires sliding in the sand and the squeal of brakes being pushed to their limits. Jet holds his breath and leans over to wrap his arm around Kobra’s shoulder.

He’s cold against Jet, his skin pale. There’s red, sticky blood running down the back of Kobra’s neck, leaving a smear down the stark white of the car’s door. Jet swallows with difficulty and forces himself to count Kobra’s breaths.

After a few seconds of simply counting, ignoring everything else but the proof that Kobra’s still breathing, Jet’s relieved to find his breathing is slow but even. Just that small knowledge helps to ease some of the worry building in Jet’s gut.

Head injuries are tricky_ but_, if Jet can get Kobra out of the heat soon, and someplace quiet so that he can properly look him over, he’ll probably be fine. Probably.

Jet doesn’t allow himself to consider otherwise.

Laser beams streak above Jet’s head again, some hitting the car they’re hiding behind while others fade out into the empty desert. The Dracs must have reloaded.

But then the sound of the blasters firing seems further away and the shots don’t hit the car again. Confused now, because if that _was_ another patrol he’s pretty sure they’d be shooting_ at_ him, Jet twists enough to peak around the front of the car.

He spots the two remaining Dracs instantly. The one behind the tree is only using one arm, a dark blistered mark covering most of its left shoulder. The other looks to be fine. But his most important discovery is that the laser fire is directed at the Dracs, _not_ at himself and Kobra.

Jet allows himself to hold onto the hope that this actually _is_ help. That the Witch did listen.

She’s never left him before, not really. He has no reason to believe that she’d abandon him now, not when the innocent lives of Kobra and The Girl are in the mix.

The sound of a body dropping makes Jet jerk his head towards the tree to his right. He watches the Drac twitch once and then grow completely still. 

For once in his life, he holds no sympathy towards the creature. It’s death means a greater chance of survival for his family and at this point, that’s more important. Human at one time or not, it’s not worth the weight on his conscience. 

The other Drac drops a second later, falling backwards over the car door it’d been hidden behind. Whoever shot it, someone that Jet still can’t see, was shooting from behind the Dracs.

He’s not sure though and he’s definitely not stupid enough to stand up from behind the car and look. Just because whoever this is shot the Dracs,_ doesn’t_ mean they’re friendly.

Jet’s heart is still pounding, the roaring in his ears only making it worse as he slides closer to Kobra. He breathes heavily for a moment, trying to calm down.

When he glances at Kobra again, at the ashen tone of his skin, Jet feels his heartbeat speed up even further. He’s panicking, he realizes a second too late. The Dracs are gone and the adrenaline is fading and he’s finally allowed to freak out.

Because Kobra’s hurt, _again_. And Jet couldn’t do anything to help him, to protect him. This is _his_ fault. 

He should’ve tried to outrun the patrols, shoot at them from the car, _something_.

He could have prevented this, he _should_ have prevented this.

“Jet! Kobra!”

The shouting snaps Jet out of it, but only enough for him to raise his arm so his hand’s visible above the hood of the car. He keeps one arm around Kobra, keeping him close despite the heat outside. 

But Kobra feels like he’s getting colder. Jet swallows thickly, his mind already running all the possible ways that this head injury could kill Kobra. Blood loss, concussion, brain trauma or whatever the hell it’s called. Infection. 

There’s the sound of boots sliding through the sand, quickly like whoever it is is running. Jet nearly cries when Cherri Cola slides into view, His face is panic stricken, dirty, and he’s still holding his blaster.

He looks like the physical embodiment of the Witch to Jet though. The literal answer to his prayers.

“Oh thank fuck,” Cherri says under his breath as he drops down onto his knees beside Jet. 

“Are you two okay?”

Jet swallows hard and shakes his head. His voice catches when he tries to speak.

“Kobra hit ‘is head. I- I dunno. He was okay for a bit but then he- he-”

Cherri’s hand comes to rest on Jet’s shoulder and he gives him a reassuring smile. Jet manages a deep breath. 

“We'll take care of ‘im. C’mon, let's get you both back t’ th’ car.”

Jet nods and lets Cherri help him up. His legs shake and his head spins, a mix of fading adrenaline and lingering panic. He pushes it down. 

Cherri keeps watch, his eyes following the line of every corpse strung out in the sand- watching for movement. Because there are rumors that the City has found ways to cheat death and you can never be too careful. Meanwhile, Jet bends over and gathers Kobra in his arms. 

He stands easily, for once thankful for the difference in their builds. Kobra’s strong, yeah, but he’s bony and slim. That’s why he’s good at fighting hand to hand, people don’t expect his strength and he uses that to his advantage. 

Jet, on the other hand, he’s built like a true desert born. Tall and big, strong. He towers over Ghoul, who barely comes up to his chest on the best of days. He’s built for his strength, his body size shows it. He likes to joke sometimes that his arms are bigger ‘round than Kobra is. Which is true. They measured.

Though he used to feel clumsy and awkward with his size, it comes in handy in times like these. Kobra curls easily into his arms, his head fitting on Jet’s shoulder. He feels tiny, fragile, and Jet can feel the wetness of his blood, still sluggishly running from whatever hidden wound is on the back of Kobra’s head. It makes icy panic set into his veins but as he follows Cherri over to the AM, he tries to assure himself that head injuries just bleed a lot. 

Kobra’s _fine_. 

Cherri opens the passenger door for him and Jet eases Kobra down into the seat. His head lulls a bit as Jet settles him in, but then his eyes begin to flutter. A moment later Kobra's blinking awake slowly. He finds Jet easily enough, though there’s a persistent confusion swimming in his eyes that’s worrying. Like he’s not quite sure where he is.

“Jet?” comes a terrified, shaky voice from the back.

“Thank the Witch,” Jet says under his breath, so far beyond relieved to hear The Girl’s voice that he nearly starts crying. “You can come out kiddo, Cherri’s here.”

Her head pokes up a second later and she takes one look at Kobra, who’s still not quite all the way conscious in the passenger seat, and her eyes go wide.

“He’s okay,” Jet assures her carefully, smiling even though he knows that it won't meet his eyes.

She nods shakily, understanding the situation. She’s dealt with them being hurt before, knows the drill. Wordlessly, she passes the backpack up and Jet thanks her. He reaches over and ruffles her hair affectionately. 

He’s relieved when she smiles. Though it’s filled with that childlike trust that Jet doesn’t feel like he deserves.

“The Dracs?” she questions in a whisper, her eyes darting to Kobra nervously.

“We got ‘em,” Jet reassures her and sets the backpack down on the center console before starting to rifle through it.

The patrols must be part of the ones that Sandman warned them about, though the reason why they'd be out in the middle of the day remains a mystery.

Cherri isn’t by his side anymore but Jet can see him through the back windshield of the AM, in his own car. It’s an old Chevy but the make and model is a fact long lost to time. He’s not one to judge though, given that Cherri just saved his and Kobra’s ass. Besides, a vehicle is a vehicle. 

Actually, come to think of it. Jet’s never seen Cherri drive _at all_ before. They don’t exactly see him often but whenever he stops by the diner, he’s always on foot. 

He’s never seen Cherri shoot before either, never really seen him out in the sun. It’s weird, seeing so many new parts of his friend at once, and he has a fuckton of questions pestering in the back of his mind, but Jet forces himself to focus on Kobra. He can bug Cherri later but for now, he needs to properly concentrate.

He also needs to stop the bleeding and he needs to make sure that this isn’t a concussion. Because the three of them have to walk through the City to get back to the Underground and Kobra won’t be able to pass as a citizen if he’s concussed.

Jet blows a sharp breath to keep the building panic at bay. 

One crisis at a time.

He quickly finds the medical supplies in Kobra’s bag and then slides the now mostly empty bag into the driver’s seat so he can spread the things he'll need across the center console. He’s got alcohol- _medical grade_, so it’s the good shit-, bandages, pain killers, and even a field stitching kit.

He makes plans to thank The Youngbloods _profusely_ when they get back to the Underground. 

“Jet?” Kobra slurs weakly, his face twisting in a mix of pain and confusion.

Jet forces a calming smile onto his face and takes Kobra’s hand, which had been patting around anxiously looking for him. He rubs gentle circles onto Kobra’s skin with his thumb in an attempt to keep him calm. 

Kobra frowns but manages to clumsily hold his hand back. Confusion_ is_ normal with a head injury but Jet wants to make sure that it’s still within the safe zone. 

“Kobra,” he says slowly, keeping his voice clear but quiet. “Do you know where you are?”

Kobra frowns again at this, his eyes darting around the inside of the car. He doesn't move at all though when he looks around, and he's only barely holding Jet's hand. Jet’s really starting to worry about how much blood he's already lost. He looks exhausted, almost more than he should be. He can’t have bled_ that_ much, right? 

“Th’ AM.” Kobra mumbles quietly, yet with a certainty that eases Jet’s concern just a tad.

“Do you know what happened?” Jet asks.

As soon as he’s sure that Kobra isn’t in the danger zone, he can get to work cleaning him up. But if he tries anything before knowing how bad his injury is, Jet could possibly make it worse. Hence the impromptu Q and A.

“There w’s a clap…,” Kobra begins slowly, his brows knitting with concentration. “ ‘n I fell.”

“Good,” Jet praises, feeling a genuine smile begin to break out. This is a good sign. “Can you squeeze my hand really good, then?”

Kobra does, the strength in his grip easing Jet even further. He’s a lot more awake now too, looking right at Jet rather than through him. Though he blinks often, as if the light hurts his eyes. But Jet can’t give him the painkillers until he’s certain it’s not going to make things even _worse_, He feels bad for the long moment it takes to think of the way to word his next question; Jet imagines Kobra has one hell of a headache.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I’ve got up?” Jet asks, keeping the smile on his face just so Kobra doesn’t start freaking out. 

He’s never been good with being the one hurt so Jet has to be careful that he doesn’t scare him.

This question actually isn’t really necessary, seeing as Kobra’s almost completely coherent by now. But he’d rather be safe than sorry. Plus, the eyeroll he gets in response is more of an answer than anything Kobra could say.

“Two. ‘m not braindead,” Kobra grumbles in_ mostly_ fake annoyance.

He’s still holding Jet’s hand tightly, rather than the weak grasp he had at first. There’s not as much confusion in his expression anymore either, thankfully. But there’s a fear there, a panic that makes the need to protect him even more powerful.

They’re going to have to talk about this later, Jet knows that. Kobra’s going to have _something_ to say about Jet trying to sacrifice himself like that. And he knows that it was a dumb call, one that he’s sorta glad Kobra called him out on.

But he doesn’t regret it.

In that moment, seeing Kobra hurt and scared… in _danger_, Jet knew that he’d do anything to make sure that Kobra got out. He had suddenly understood where Ghoul was coming from, back in the City. 

Jet had thought he understood before, that he knew why Ghoul would choose to stay back and give them a chance to get to safety. But he didn’t. Not really. 

He didn’t have a choice when he went down in the City. He was the last man standing, all he knew was that his family was probably dead and that the Dracs were shooting at his kid. So he shot back. 

But just now, he’d consciously made that decision. Jet would have been okay dying here today. As long as it gave Kobra and The Girl the chance of safety. And that scares him. 

If Kobra hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t been stubborn and loyal and so much fucking _braver_ than Jet will ever be… if Kobra hadn’t argued, Jet would be _dead_ right now.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that realization, he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to process that.

But he does know that he _is_ glad Kobra stayed with him. That he’s able to patch him up and make sure he’s okay. That The Girl didn’t lose part of her family today.

So, Kobra’s probably going to be pissed or scared, or both, but Jet’s alright with that. It means he’s alive, that they’re both alive. 

The Girl’s arm comes up between the seats and she pulls herself forward, studying Kobra carefully. She’s hesitant, scared almost. Her robot is clutched tightly in her free arm, so hard that Jet’s sure he’s going to have to fix the head ‘cause she’s popped it off.

“Hey girly,” Kobra says once he notices her, smiling softly and reaching up to ruffle her hair.

His movements are clumsy, slightly uncoordinated. But she grins and her grip on the toy lessens slightly. But then she catches sight of the blood starting to spread on the headrest of Kobra’s seat and her fear returns as quickly as it left.

“You’re _bleeding_.”

In any other situation, Jet would laugh at the bluntness of her statement, but with the very real reminder that Kobra is _still_ bleeding, he gets to work. He tries to ignore how grey Kobra’s skin looks against the bright red of his jacket. How his eyes flutter as if he’s struggling to stay awake.

“An’ you did a great job hidin’, kiddo,” Jet hears Kobra praise as he leans across Kobra’s lap to grab the bottle of painkillers.

“Here,” he says, handing Kobra two.

When Kobra shakes so badly that he can’t even hold the water bottle handed to him, it only makes Jet _more_ eager to start properly fixing him up. Jet wordlessly helps steady Kobra’s hand and lets him take a long drink. Kobra smiles gratefully as Jet sets the bottle down but it’s strained, too tight to give him any comfort.

Kobra must be in more pain than he’s letting on, considering normally he’d be cursing Jet out for even offering the painkillers. When Kobra tries to hide the pain, even when Jet already knows he’s hurt, _that’s_ when he knows it’s bad. That is also concerning, and something that Jet adds to the ever growing list of shit he has to worry about right now. He’s going to run out of mental space soon, seeing as damn near _everything _is making his anxiety shoot through the roof.

“Hey, Jet,” Jet turns around as Cherri hands him a roll of bandage tape. “ ‘s all I could find. You got what you need ‘ere or you wanna take ‘im back ‘t Doc?”

“This was about th’ only thing I was missin’ actually,” Jet tells him gratefully before taking the tape and setting it down by the rest of his supplies. 

Kobra is very purposefully not looking at the medical supplies, instead he’s letting The Girl tell him the recounts of the fight. Though Jet’s pretty sure she didn’t really see what happened, seeing as neither he nor Kobra did a backflip to take out any of the Dracs. But he lets her talk for a while, if only because it seems to be calming both her and Kobra down a little.

After only a few minutes though, Jet has Cherri take the kid over to his car so that she can look through his CD collection. He hates to take away Kobra’s distraction, but he also doesn’t want The Girl to see him stitch Kobra up. She’s seen a lot but Jet’s honestly trying his hardest to not make her have to see _more_.

He half expects her to argue because she gives him a knowing look, one that tells him she can see exactly what he’s trying to do. But then Cherri mentions one of her favorite albums and she’s all but scrambling out of the car. Cherri puts his sunglasses on her and hauls her up onto his hip. His sunglasses are stupidly dark, like so much so that Jet isn’t sure how he can see with them on. But that’s the_ point_, he guesses. The Girl doesn’t need to see any more dead bodies, even if they are Dracs. At least this way she’s sorta shielded.

Jet can still hear her blabbering on about her favorite song, in great detail, as he guides Kobra into turning around. He maneuvers him until he’s laying on his stomach with the seat leaned back as far as Jet can get it. It’s probably uncomfortable, with his face smushed into the headrest and his legs bent awkwardly to stay in the seat, but it’s the only way Jet’ll be able to properly see and dress the wound.

Kobra remains quiet, though his eyes are open and gazing intently out the window. Jet wishes there was something he could do to distract him, take his mind off of this. But the others aren’t here and he’ll just have to make do.

“Alright,” Jet says aloud, mostly to himself but also so that he doesn’t startle Kobra. Talking about what he’s going to do will keep Kobra from freaking out, from panicking. At least, that’s the plan anyway. “ ‘m gonna clean you up first. It’s gonna sting. I’m sorry.”

Kobra just makes a short _mmh_ sound in response, his eyes far off. Jet steadies himself and leans out of the car door long enough to pour the alcohol over his hands. It stings the small scrapes covering his palms but he can’t risk Kobra getting an infection, so he scrubs as best as he can.

When that’s done, Jet sets the alcohol down and focuses his attention on the wound on the back of Kobra’s head. From what he can tell now that he’s getting a good look at it, it’s just a puncture wound. No bigger than an inch wide in any one place. But it’s _deep _and still bleeding sluggishly. 

Kobra must have hit his head on a rock or something hard when he fell backwards, that’s the only reasoning Jet can come up with. 

Thankfully, it seems like all the blood has made it look worse than it really is. He won’t be able to tell for sure though until he cleans it up. So, he takes one of the bandages, making sure there’s plenty to spare, and soaks it generously in the alcohol. 

“Ready?” he asks, just to be sure.

If he startles Kobra he could make this worse. Poison’s not the only one terrified of things like this, though Jet isn’t sure why Kobra’s as affected as he is. A question for another time.

“Yeah,” Kobra whispers, his voice rough but shaky. “ ‘m fine.”

Jet gingerly dabs the alcohol around the wound first, cleaning most of the blood from the short, shaved hair it’s surrounded by. Kobra tenses but doesn’t make a sound or tell him to stop, so Jet begins carefully dabbing at the wound. 

This time, Kobra flinches and curses under his breath. He doesn’t squirm away but he presses his face hard into the material of the seat. There’s nothing else Jet can do to distract him but he still feels guilty when Kobra whimpers desperately. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jet apologizes softly, but he keeps dabbing at the wound. 

He_ has _to get it clean, especially since they don’t know what Kobra hit his head on. Kobra doesn’t cry out, not really, but the quiet, muffled sounds of pain he keeps making go right to Jet’s heart. He feels horrible for causing Kobra so much pain but he reminds himself that it has to be done, he _has _to make sure he won’t get an infection. 

After a few more minutes of cleaning, Jet realizes that he _is_ going to have to stitch the wound. But, thankfully, it’ll only need one or two stitches at most. They’ve gotten lucky.

“How bad ‘s it?” Kobra mumbles, voice thick and strained from the pain. 

Jet rubs his free hand down Kobra’s closest arm, connecting their hands afterwards. He tries to pour all of the reassurance and love he has into this small gesture. He hates seeing Kobra in pain like this. He wishes they had time for the painkillers to kick in.

“Not bad. Almost stopped bleedin’ but I am gonna ‘av ‘t stitch you up. I’m sorry.”

“ ‘s fine,” Kobra says gently, as if he’s the one assuring Jet. “trust you.”

Jet squeezes his hand one last time and leans up to move Kobra’s bangs from his eyes. It earns him a sleepy smile and he kisses Kobra just because he can. 

“Love you,” he says as he pulls away.

Because he feels like he has to say it. He let Kobra get hurt and now he has to cause him more pain by stitching him up.

Kobra mouths it back, looking more exhausted than he did a moment ago. Jet wishes he could take the pain away, could do _something _to make it so Kobra’s eyes weren’t brimming with unshed tears. So that his body wasn’t tense and waiting for Jet to shove a needle through his skin.

But there’s nothing Jet can do, not yet. Once he’s done though, once they’re back in the Underground and safe, Jet is going to make certain that Kobra doesn’t have to lift a finger. He is going to _personally_ ensure that Kobra finally gets some fucking rest, a goddamn _break_ from the constantbad luck that has been plaguing them recently.

Jet gets to work, going as quickly as he can. He wants to get this done as fast as he can so that Kobra can rest for at least a little while before they have to head back. 

He cleans off his hands again, just to be safe, and picks up the needle and thread. They’re also medical grade, the kinda shit you’d find in hospitals. He really needs to thank the Youngbloods when he gets back. 

This could have been _much_ worse.

Once he’s ready to start stitching, Jet hands Kobra the roll of stretchy bandages and tells him to squeeze it. He’d offer his own hand but the angle he’s working at means he’s going to need both to do this properly. Kobra accepts it gladly. He wordlessly wraps one arm around the back of the seat and presses his face into his elbow as much as he can, gripping the stretchy bandages with the other.

Jet tries to work fast but he has to go more slowly than normal because of the awkward place the wound is in. Kobra groans when he pulls the needle through the first time, a high, _pained_ sound that makes Jet’s heart constrict. But he doesn’t stop, he pulls the thread through and waits a beat before pulling the needle again. 

Kobra whimpers and takes a shaky breath, but he doesn’t pull away. Jet can see the tension in his body, how hard he’s fighting to stay still.

In an attempt to help Kobra as much as he can, Jet starts talking. Mostly it’s nonsense, repeated _I love you’s_ and _you’re okay_. He says _I’m sorry_ so many times that he loses count.

But he keeps his voice soft, gentle and he tries to put as much love and reassurance as he can into every word. Kobra’s probably not really listening, at least not completely, but Jet prays that the comforting tone makes _some_ sort of difference.

When he’s at last done, he cleans the wound with the alcohol one more time. Kobra doesn’t flinch and he gets the feeling he’s barely awake, dazed from the pain that_ Jet _caused him. He feels so fucking _guilty_ for letting Kobra get hurt, for having to stitch him up in the middle of fucking _nowhere,_ in the seat of the car no less. He almost wishes that he’d gone on this run by himself, left Kobra back with Poison and Ghoul. Where he would be safe. He'd had the option to stop this run before it even happened, Kobra had given him the chance to say no. But Jet had thought that they could do this, could manage. Now, he's not sure this was a good idea.

After a few moments of careful scrutinizing, Jet decides that the stitches are the best that he’s going to be able to do and he gets to work finding a bandage that’s the right size. From there, it’s easy enough to gently place it over the fresh stitches and tape it down. The tape is the good shit too apparently because it sticks even though Jet didn’t have the supplies to shave the area around the wound. 

He lets Kobra rest a little while longer as he cleans up the supplies. The unused things go back into Kobra’s bag while the others Jet throws down onto the sand outside the car door. He’s going to burn them later, but only after he is certain that Kobra’s okay. 

Right about the time Jet starts helping Kobra sit up, Cherri comes back over. The Girl’s on his hip again, though she jumps down as they get to the AM.

She stops next to Jet, who’s still sorta sitting half-in, half-out of the car with one leg out and the other crouched on the floorboard for balance. He finishes getting Kobra into the seat normally again with some effort. 

Jet can’t help but notice how heavily lidded Kobra’s eyes are, as if he’s struggling to stay awake. He’s unnaturally pale and very still. 

Jet’s starting to really worry about getting him back into the City. There’s no way they can stay unnoticed like this, with Kobra only barely conscious. What he _needs_ is time to recover, a few days to rest and for Jet to be absolutely certain that his head is healing right. But time is the one thing that they don’t have. 

They _need _to get back before more Dracs find them. It’s only a matter of time.

“How’s he doin’?” Cherri questions softly, one hand on the kid’s shoulder to keep her from climbing into the car with them.

That doesn’t stop her from leaning as far as she can to try and get a good look at Kobra. She’s always very clingy when any of them are hurt, and once again, Jet wishes they had the time to let Kobra lay down for a little while. The Girl could keep him company, take his mind off the pain he’s probably still in. It’ll be a few more minutes until the pain meds kick in. 

“He’s tired,” Jet explains, glancing back over to Kobra. “He bled quite a bit so he’s sorta out of it.”

Which is the truth. Plus, Kobra wasn’t quite recovered all the way in the first place, so losing any amount of blood, so soon, definitely took its toll. Though, he didn’t bleed a dangerous amount or anything, probably just enough for him to really notice it, Jet thinks.

He wonders if Kobra will be able to sleep with the car moving when they start making their way back. That’s the only time he’ll be able to rest until they get back to the Underground, seeing as just staying here another hour would end with them in another clap. 

“Do you have painkillers?” Cherri asks, frowning as he looks Kobra over as well. “If he’s not feelin’ it now, he’ll absolutely feel it later.”

Jet laughs but shakes his head. “Yeah, I gave him some already. Prob’bly also why he looks stoned.”

“ ‘m not stoned,” Kobra complains, turning his head a little to glare at them. Then his face scrunches like he’s trying to remember a train of thought he’d lost. “Poison?”

Jet inches closer to Kobra, studying him a little more closely. He shouldn’t still be this confused, especially not to the point where he thinks his sibling is here. Jet takes Kobra’s hand again, holding tightly in the hopes that it’ll make some sort of difference.

“Poison’s not here, ‘member? They’re back with the Youngbloods.”

If Kobra’s _this _confused, then maybe Jet was wrong and he’s actually hurt worse than he thought and-

“No,” Kobra takes a breath and struggles until he’s sitting up properly in the seat. Jet has to step fully out onto the sand so he doesn’t fall. “ I mean, did anyone call ‘em. We must’a missed th’ check in.”

Jet’s stomach drops for a whole other reason than Kobra’s possible concussion.

It must be close enough to an_ hour_ by now since they were supposed to check in, two since Poison and the others have last heard from them. They’re gonna be worried _sick_.

Scratch that, they’re gonna fucking _kill_ Jet for letting Kobra get hurt.

“Yeah, might be a good idea ‘t call them,” Cherri tells Jet with a shake of his head, like he’s already thinking of all the ways Poison is going to chew him out. “I heard about th’ clap so there’s a good chance they heard too.”

“My comm,” Kobra offers, shifting up a bit more with some effort.

He fumbles around in his back pocket and Jet has to hold him steady so that he doesn’t pitch forward. At last he pulls the comm from his pocket and hands it over to Jet before falling ungracefully back against the seat.

He’s getting really pale again, so Jet decides to make the call himself. Poison will probably freak out even _more _if Kobra gets on the waves sounding all hurt like he is. What’s really worrying though is that Kobra doesn’t protest.

“Does it work?” The Girl asks beside Jet, standing on her tiptoes so she can look at the comm in his hands. 

He doesn’t answer her, doesn’t allow himself the chance to doubt that it works.

“Checking in.”

The device makes a whirring sound, like an old overheated VHS player. Jet curses and hits the button again. 

“This is Kobra ‘n Jet, checkin’ in.”

The whirring sound gets louder and the device starts to get hot, like_ actually_ hot.

Jet drops it into the sand by his feet when he feels it start to burn his hand. Smoke starts to rise from the comm instantly. 

“Shit,” Jet exclaims, running his hands through his hair, pushing it back and off of his face as he tries to think of what to do.

He kicks it out of the way so that it won’t burn The Girl. 

Without that comm they have no way to contact the others and Kobra’s in no shape to be fixing smoking pieces of tech. Jet will be _damned_ if he lets Kobra get blown up or hurt even worse from trying to fix it. Which is unlikely, he knows, but he’s starting to panic and he’s not very good at being logical when he’s this anxious.

“There’s ‘nother,” Kobra offers, gesturing weakly to the driver’s side.

“There is?” 

“In the' other bag,” he clarifies.

Oh. Shit. Right, yeah. The Youngbloods gave them a spare.

Jet finds it shoved in the very bottom of Kobra’s bag. He hadn’t paid it any mind before when he was inventorying their things but he feels very stupid for forgetting it now of all times.

“Jet and Kobra, checkin’ in,” he says into the comm.

The Girl is watching him curiously, probably just interested by the new piece of tech. Or well, it’s not actually a _new _thing. It looks rather old, maybe pre-dating the wars. But it’s been clearly repurposed, fixed up and given a new life.

Jet prays that it’s tuned into the right frequency.

“Jet and Kobra, checkin’ in,” he says again, unable to hide the desperation in his voice.

____________________________________________________

Ghoul carefully pulls the blanket up to Poison’s chin.

He’s managed to get them out of their shoes and bandana before laying them down, but that’s it. And even then, he did most of the work. 

They’re awake, at least he thinks they are. Their eyes are open and they blink occasionally, but they haven't spoken or even hardly moved since… since everything in the hallway. 

He’s not really sure how long the two of them sat there until Benz dragged them back here. Poison had gripped him so tightly that Ghoul is almost certain there’s fingernail marks in his arms. Though, he hasn’t gotten the chance to undress and find out yet, since most of his focus has been on Poison. 

Ghoul’s honestly, genuinely worried about them. More so than he ever remembers being. At least, he’s pretty sure he’d remember this painful, twisting knot of concern and fear that’s currently sat deep in his gut. It’s painful, almost physically so, and his hands are shaking as he makes sure Poison’s head is sitting right on the pillow. He doesn’t want their neck to be sore if they lay here too long. And, from the look of them, it _is_ going to be a while. 

It was devastating really, seeing Poison just _break_ like that. They hadn't even _moved_ when Benz took off their bandage because it was soaked from how hard they'd cried.

Ghoul looks down to them, at the pale lines of their face, barely illuminated by the light of the room. Their eyes are open but they’re not seeing anything, not really. They’re staring at something far off, lost in their own head. Poison looks like a ghost, like a lost spirit that’s still around only because it doesn’t know it’s dead. There’s that same pain and brokenness in the way Poison’s just laying here. Ghoul’s standing _right _beside them and yet their eyes don’t even so much as glance in his direction when he shifts on his feet. Isn’t it like a reflex or something, for your eyes to follow movement?

Fumbling for anything else to do in this situation, he tucks the blanket in around them. He wants them to be comfortable, even if they’re barely here right now. 

Should they be this… vacant? Like, Ghoul feels like this isn’t something that’s healthy.

He can’t remember it exactly but… but he just gets the feeling that Poison’s never been this broken before. They’re always full of something, life maybe. Energy. 

But right now, Ghoul can see the redness rimming their eyes from how hard they’d cried. He can see the sticky tracts of tears down their cheeks, shining in the light over the barely healed scar on their chin and neck. How their breaths are shaky and shallow. Should he clean them up before trying to get them to sleep?

He’s pretty sure that they can still get the new scar tissue infected, or maybe even torn. Neither of those would end very well, considering how long it’s taken them just to recover this much.

Ghoul sighs and sits down on the other side of the bed. He needs to go across the hall, get a washcloth or something and clean Poison up a bit. But he just… can’t seem to.

Stakes is on his way, that’s what Benz said, so maybe he can help get Poison cleaned up some. Then again, Benz never said what Stakes was coming here for. Which is odd.

Isn’t he supposed to be like- getting ready for the Youngbloods’ mission to bring Kobra and Jet back? That’s kinda important. 

Ghoul doesn’t know why he’d want to come down here anyway. Hell, he’s barely said three words to the guy. But the Youngbloods _have _been extremely nice to the four of them, always helping them whenever they’ve needed anything and just being nice guys in general. They’re not quite _friends _but Ghoul likes them well enough. So then, maybe Stakes is just worried or something and is going to come over to like… talk to them? Ghoul’s not sure.

He does know that he’s not really had time to process everything that’s just happened. He’s been focusing so much on Poison, making sure they’re okay. It hasn’t really been something he’s allowed himself to think on.

Like, it just doesn’t feel _real_.

He’s only just beginning to remember Kobra and Jet. Only _barely _able to remember that these people are his best friends, the only family he’s ever had. 

Kobra’s like his little brother, honestly. Even though Ghoul is also a wreck, he gets the feeling that he’s taken care of Kobra hundreds of times before. Protected him like he’s his baby brother, like he’s _family_.

Mainly with the whole drinking problems away thing. Ghoul has scattered memories of pulling Kobra out of dingy bars and driving him home. Holding him up when he pukes, listening to him when he manages to tell him about whatever nightmares have been plaguing him that week.

Ghoul also knows that Jet is one of the few reasons he’s not _completely _insane. Jet’s always been better at helping Ghoul than the others, for some reason. He’s more of a… almost parental figure. Someone for Ghoul to look up to and sorta… model himself after? Maybe not formally or anything, but he remembers asking himself what Jet would do in certain situations. Because Jet can make those hard decisions, the ones that feel wrong but are the right thing to do.

From what Ghoul remembers, which is actually beginning to get a little more clear, he has a hard time getting his emotions out. Like, he can remember being frustrated over something, a can not opening, and it just got to be so much that he couldn’t get that frustration out. He remembers getting ready to throw the can down, thinking that it’d smash open and then he’d be able to eat it’s contents. But Jet stopped him, sat him down and showed him an easier way. 

Jet helped him a lot actually. In learning what his emotions were and how talking to people wasn’t actually the worst thing in existence. 

Ghoul’s only just remember these things, only _just _realizing how much these people mean to him. And now… now two of them are gone. Just _gone_.

Sure, Sandman and his crew are going out to look for them but the chances of them _actually _finding Kobra and Jet alive are… very slim. And Ghoul knows it. 

He knows it, understands why their chances of still being alive are so small. If they’re hurt, the sun will probably cook them before the Youngbloods can get to them. If they’re dead? Well, the City will put them in a bodybag and it will be well and truly over. 

It’s something Ghoul didn't realize he remembered. But now that it’s his friends, his family, that’re dead, he can’t seem to _forget_ what is going to happen to them now. 

He remembers, vaguely, that Jet believes in The Witch. A deity that protects Killjoy souls. Ghoul’s never had much faith, never really seen the point in it. But he hopes that if she _is _real, she’s taking care of Jet and Kobra right now. Making sure they’re safe, that Better Living can’t tamper with their souls.

He should probably feel more, be more torn up about this. Cry and shake like Poison did. Completely check out like they are. 

But he’s just… not. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, that they’re gone. That Jet’s not going to hug him again and Kobra’s never going to give him that fond eye roll again. It just… it just doesn’t feel real. 

This feels like a dream, like he’s half asleep and his mind is running free. Creating crazy worlds that he will forget and be free from once he wakes fully.

Poison coughs, shaking Ghoul from his thoughts. 

When he looks over, they’re still coughing but they’re not really reacting either. They don’t bring their hand up to cover their mouth, they don’t tilt their head away. They just… they just keep staring forward.

It’s enough to give Ghoul the strength to stand up. His feet hitting the floor feels like an electric jolt through his system. A shock, bringing him back into the real world. Back to Poison. 

They need him.

They’ve stopped coughing but he reckons they’re probably thirsty as hell. He can probably find a cup or something in the bathroom across the hall, bring it back with the washcloth. 

Maybe after that, once they’re clean and everything, maybe then they’ll be able to rest. And then… then maybe when they wake up, Poison will be okay again. Or, at the least, better. He can deal with sobs and them clinging to him… but this quiet? The way they’ve completely left him like this, _this _he can’t deal with. 

Ghoul shakes his head and goes over to Poison’s side of the bed.

“Hey,” he starts softly, letting his hand rest on their arm to try and ground them a little. “I’m steppin’ out for just a sec, okay?” They don’t even blink. “I’ll be right back,” he adds, even though it’s useless.

Ghoul sighs and runs his hand through his hair. 

Right. Water and a washcloth, one thing at a time.

He finds a cup under the sink. It’s small and plastic, but it holds water so it’ll do. Ghoul also grabs the softest, cleanest washcloth he can find and runs it under some lukewarm water from the sink. 

He gets the feeling that he should be in awe of these things, of the luxury this is compared to where he lived before. He should probably be sitting here turning the tap on and off over and over, because running water just isn’t a _thing_ where he’s from. But, as is, he barely spares it a second thought. 

When he comes back into Poison’s room, unsurprisingly, they haven't moved. They don’t look like they've even breathed if he’s honest with himself.

Ghoul sets the washcloth down on the nightstand and puts his hand back onto Poison’s shoulder.

“Hey, Poison. Here, drink this.”

He tries to get them to take a hold of it but their hand moves like dead weight. When he looks up at them in frustration though, their eyes are on him. They still look barely there but there’s a recognition sparking weakly and Ghoul knows that means they’re present again. At least somewhat.

“C’mon. You need it,” he tries, opening their hand and putting the little plastic cup into their hold.

They don’t hold onto it, not really. Ghoul sighs and wraps his hand over theirs. Together, Ghoul leads their hands up so that Poison can take a drink. They drink slowly, as if half-asleep, but they actually move their hand back down once they’re done. Ghoul’s pretty sure that’s a good sign.

He’s actually smiling a little as he takes the cup from them and sets it down on the nightstand. The washcloth is still slightly warm when he picks it up, just damp enough to have left a small spot where it sat.

“Lemme clean you up, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. 

Ghoul starts first with their cheeks, cleaning the tear tracts off gently. Poison’s eyes close and they almost look relaxed as he gently cleans their face. 

He gets a little lost in it. In the softness of their skin, in the way their nose wrinkles when he wipes beside it. How their hair feels when he puts it behind their ears so he can take the cloth over the sides of their face as well.

When he gets to their chin, Ghoul goes almost impossibly slow. The skin isn’t red anymore but the scar tissue is still sorta pink and sensitive looking. 

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

This time, to his surprise, Poison actually answers him.

“You’d nev’r hurt me, Ghoulie.”

They sound like shit but there’s something soft and trusting in the way they say his name. It’s soft and broken, just like they are. But even so, the insane amount of trust pouring off of them makes his heart leap and his mind race.

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, the way he lets his touch linger as he cleans the new skin on their neck… but he does know that it’s a good feeling. Something he’s felt for a while. He doesn’t have time to focus and try and figure out what it is. But it feels important, like something that’s been right in front of his face for ages and he’s missed it completely.

Once he’s done, Poison does look better. If only a little.

He helps them drink again, though this time their eyes meet when he sets the cup back down. They seem more here now. But that deep seated grief, that pain, it’s still there. He can see it in their eyes, in the way their hand shakes in his own.

He sits on the edge of the bed, on their side, and frets over the blanket covering them simply so he has something to do with his other hand. Poison’s eyes are closed now but the tension in their body is far from peaceful. Their breathing is slow though and he wonders if they’ve fallen asleep already. They’re bound to be exhausted from today. He knows he is.

Three harsh, sharp knocks come suddenly from the door. Ghoul jumps and Poison sucks in a sharp breath and grips his hand so tightly that he’s certain they’ve broken one of his fingers. 

The knocking happens again, loud and hurried. 

Ghoul shoots Poison a look but their eyes are wide, frightened, so he pries his hand from theirs and stands. They fist the sheets instead, their face now ghostly pale yet again.

He doesn’t have time to wonder why they’re so terrified of just someone knocking.

The person at the door knocks again the second Ghoul takes a step forward. Now genuinely curious, he hurries across the room. Unlocking the door as quickly as he can and swinging it wide, Ghoul frowns when he sees Stakes standing there.

He looks like he just ran all the way here from the control room. His hair is wild and he’s breathing heavily and leaning with one arm on the door frame. The second he sees Ghoul standing there, his face breaks out into a huge grin.

“Ghoul!” Stakes says suddenly, starling him when he jumps away from the door and claps both hands onto his shoulders. “They’re alive!”

Ghoul blinks. Once, twice.

“Wha-”

“They’re alive!” Stakes says again, his grin never faltering.

“They…”

“Kobra and Jet. Ghoul, they just radioed in. They’re _alive_. They’re okay.”

He hears rather than sees Poison’s sob. But Ghoul doesn’t care because that means they heard Stakes and…

And holy shit. It- it’s- it’s _okay_… Kobra and Jet they’re- they’re okay. They’re _alive _and- and-

Ghoul’s knees give out but Stakes catches him, pulling him into a hug rather than letting him fall. He buries his face into Stakes shoulder and finally, finally the tears fall.

“They’re on their way back,” Stakes assures him, guiding him into the room.

Ghoul stumbles but he can’t seem to lift his head away from Stake’s shoulder. It’s as if every single emotion, everything that’s been hidden just underneath the surface rises up. Ghoul is hit with memories, broken quick things. Flashes of Kobra elbowing him in the car because he made a dirty joke. Jet ruffling his hair and telling him he did a good job with his latest bomb. Poison, their face scrunched up into one of the biggest smiles he’s ever seen. The way they throw their head back when they laugh. 

Stakes maneuvers him back over to the bed and, still sniffling, Ghoul sits down gratefully. He’s dizzy with relief and happiness. He glances over to Poison and watches in real time as they come back. 

They’re crying, tears rolling down their cheeks and catching on their fingers because they have their hand over their mouth. But he watches the life slowly bleed back into them. How their eyes scrunch like he knows they do when Poison’s smiling. How their shoulders shake and they’re still crying. But it's the _good_ kind of crying. It’s relief and the weight of entire worlds lifting from their shoulders.

“They’re okay?” Poison asks, looking over to Stakes with so much vulnerability in their eyes that it makes Ghoul’s chest tight. 

He leans across the bed and drags them up and against his side. They cling to him and he wraps an arm around their shoulder.

“Yes,” Stakes assures them, a smile twitching on his lips. “Heard them myself. They’re on their way back right now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, it's all gonna be okay!  
Well, okay so part of this is my fault. I like to blame the pain on the plot. But this time it really was me. I announced last chapter that I was going to be breaking this fic into two parts, ending the first part in about 5-10 chapters. What I Forgot to do was also mention that that means the Major Character Death tag is sorta irrelevant.  
I swear that I wasn't just trying to amp up the impact of the last chapter. I really was just excited to share the scene I'd been planning for so long with you dudes that it slipped my mind to change the tag. And i know it was a major thing to forget, so please forgive me.  
I've waited until posting this next chapter to change the major character death tag because I wanted to explain why I was changing it. So yeah, it doesn't apply for this part because, as you can see from this chapter, Kobra and Jet are okay. I really didn't mean to add into the impact of the last chapter like that, so yeah, I'm really sorry. 
> 
> Uh... on the topic of my normal rants. This chapter was actually fun as hell to write. I just wanted parallels between Jet and Ghoul taking care of the love of their lives. Both Kobra and Poison have had a rough time lately so they needed their boyfriends to take care of them. But I think Poison specifically.  
Because Ghoul's really getting close to them isn't he? Like, he's loving them again without really realizing it. And I'm not a hundred percent sure if that's coming through when you guys read it but that's what I'm trying to do. Subtly anyway. Like he's taking care of them and the part where he washes their face is purely him falling in love with them. I loved writing that part so much. because that's almost a soulmate thing isn't it? That even though Ghoul doesn't really know them, he can still fall in love with Poison again. Like I said, I dunno if that's really coming through or not so I wanted to just mention it. Because it's like my favorite thing right now. Other than maybe Jet and Kobra being stupidly in love.  
Like I just love writing Jet and Kobra scenes because they're always so soft, no matter what. Poison and Ghoul's love, before the fight, was intense and in your face sorta. They were (are?) the type to be unapolagetically firecly in love in public an dnot give a single shit who saw. but Kobra and Jet are a bit softer in the sense that it's moments like the one in this chapter. Where Jet just shows his love over and over in little things. Like holding his hand, kissing him, messing with his hair, smiling. It's softer and a bit more mellow. And it just is my favorite thing.  
okay, I'm gonna stop now because I could probably go on forever about this. 
> 
> If you liked this, or if you're upset because of last chapter being so painful (somewhat unnecessarily) then please feel free to leave a comment. I really enjoy hearing what you guys think!  
Or yell at me on tumblr! @honestmouse20  
<3


	17. Ask Angels Made From Neon and Fucking Garbage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The blood, the blood, the blood of the lamb/Is worth two lions but here I am"  
~Uma Thurman by Fob~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
* serious panic attacks  
*ptsd gets real bad in this too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!   
I know this is late, but I had a rough week last week and I just couldn't get this out on time. I hope that this chapter makes up for your wait!  
Huge thank you to i_like_to_wander_around_here on tumblr for all of her help with this fic. Couldn't do it without her!  
Hope you all enjoy!  
*Chapter title is from NaNaNa because that's like my favorite fucking line.*

Stakes manages, somehow, to get both Ghoul and Poison back into the control room. 

Ghoul seems mostly okay, if a little shaky, while Poison is definitely in some level of shock. They’re too quiet, pale as a ghost, and they leaned heavily on Ghoul when Stakes was leading them here. So, of course, he’s concerned.

He promised Kobra he’d look after the two of them should anything end up happening on this mission. In a sense, Stakes feels like he failed in that aspect.

Clearly, Poison and Ghoul are a little worse for wear. But, as he helps Ghoul ease Poison down into a spare chair, Stakes tells himself that once Kobra and Jet get back things will get better. This was all just one hell of a scare, that’s all.

Stakes had been completely ready to go on that recon mission. _If _Jet and Kobra had really died today, he feels like it would be his responsibility to at least bring them back at the least. He’d promised Kobra that he’d look after Ghoul and Poison and after seeing what this whole thing has done to wear them down, he can understand why Kobra was scared enough to reach out to him like this.

The four of them need each other, they’re _family_. 

Stakes gets the creeping feeling that he would be in much of the same state if it was one of his own crew that he thought was dead. Just the thought alone makes his chest tight.

Once he gets Ghoul sitting in a chair right beside Poison, Stakes lets his eyes roam the room. There’s not that many people in here right now since they’ve cleared out everyone except those who have to be in here. So it’s only Poison and Ghoul, the rest of Stake’s crew, and a few guards. Benz catches his eyes and he raises an eyebrow in a silent question. He must see the helplessness written all over Stakes' face.

How he can't help but feel that there has to be more that the four of them can _do_. They’re just _standing _here, doing nothing. Meanwhile Jet is working to get Kobra stable enough for the trip back and Poison and Ghoul are… probably still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that their friends aren’t dead. 

Stakes was in the room when the call came through, so he’d heard first hand that Kobra isn’t in dangerous condition or anything. Jet had just informed them that he needed at least an hour to recover before they made the trip back. 

Which is fair. But it also means that Sandman hasn’t taken his eyes off the crude radar Stakes managed to get running. The signal is absolute shit and, save for driving out to the desert and setting up a booster himself, there’s nothing he can do to fix that. But it’s functional. Sorta. 

They’ll be able to tell if another round of patrols is anywhere near Jet and Kobra at the least. According to Jet, a friend of The Four’s is there with them. So they’re safer than they _could _be but Stakes still doesn’t like this whole situation.

“I don’t like this,” Sandman announces to the room out of nowhere, apparently reading Stakes’ mind.

His voice is softer though, likely because of Poison and Ghoul, but there’s an impatience and helplessness in his tone that Stakes feels echoed in his own chest.

Because they’re not doing _enough_. These kids are on _their _watch and they’re all just sitting here doing _nothing_,while two of them are still out there. Are still in _danger_. 

Stakes knows that they’ve lost people before. Hell, he’s lost more than his own fair share at this point. He shouldn’t be this torn up about this situation, especially since Kobra and Jet _are _okay. But he is. It aches like a fresh wound, the thought that there is so much that can _still _go wrong and there’s hardly anything he can do about it.

Phantom looks up from the map he’s been pouring over and turns his head towards Sandman. Benz starts paying attention as well, stepping forward and crossing his arms over his chest. They’ve both read that desperation in Sandman’s voice as well. Stakes can practically see the concern washing over Benz’s face. 

“What do you suggest we do then?” Benz prompts without any real accusation.

Most of the time, Benz and Sandman will think in looping, interlocking circles. Sandman will often start the thought aloud and then the two of them will connect trains of thought back and forth until whatever they’re thinking through becomes solved. It’s freaky and Stakes often gets completely lost whenever he tries to follow along.

“I dunno,” Sandman begins slowly, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. “I just feel like we could be doin’ more to help them.”

“I agree,” Benz tells them, lifting one hand like he’s answering a question in class. “Kobra’s hurt and I don’t particularly like their chances with him in the state he’s in.”

“Getting back into the City will be the easy part,” Sandman wonders aloud, going slow as he thinks through his words carefully. “The tunnels are unguarded. The problem will arise when they try to make it through the streets. Two guys and a kid are suspicious enough, especially at the hour they’ll be getting back. But if one of the men is stumbling or showing signs of a head injury like Kobra has…”

“Then the Dracs will most definitely take notice,” Stakes finishes, for once able to follow along.

Ghoul visibly tenses at the words and he wraps one of his arms over Poison’s shoulder so carefully you’d think they were about to shatter at the slightest touch. They’re leaning on one another, despite being in separate chairs. Offering unspoken comfort and strength. The kind that stems from a bond like their crew has. The relationship Poison and Ghoul are in just adds to it. 

Now, none of the Four have said it out right, but Stakes knows Poison and Ghoul were a couple back in the desert. Ghoul doesn’t know that, clearly, but in moments like this one Stakes is able to see why the two of them are- _were_?- together. They’re undeniably in love and they care about each other a lot. 

He just wishes that this situation was a better one. One where Ghoul might be able to make the connections if things were different.

“So,” Phantom speaks up, leaning back on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want to do?”

Sandman turns around at last. He looks worn down, older than Stakes has ever seen him. And they’ve been through a lot of shit together. This mission, these kids, they’re weighing on him. On all of them.

He runs a hand through his hair and leans heavily against the table the computers are on. Stakes notices that he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, how there’s dark grey shadows under his eyes. He wonders how many cups of coffee he’s had today and whether or not he should try and confiscate the one he’s clutching right now.

“I wanna go get them,” Sandman declares, raising his chin and locking eyes with Phantom.

Stakes would like to say he’s shocked by the seemingly out of nowhere decision Sandman has just proposed, but he’s not. This may be impulsive, a little crazy, but he finds himself agreeing the second the words are out of Sandman’s mouth. 

The best way for Kobra and Jet to make it back safely, with the kid in tow, is if they have help. If the patrols hadn’t found them, then Stakes has no doubt they’d have been able to make it back on their own. But things have changed and the chances of them getting back on their own is now low.

Kobra and Jet probably won’t be happy with needing help. But they _do _need it.

But first, Sandman’s plan has to go through Phantom. He’s the best at thinking these things through, planning it out in his head, determining all the different possible scenarios and ways things might go wrong. Over the years, he’s gotten exceptionally good at breaking down Sandman’s impulse decisions and figuring out if they’ll work or not. But since Benz is clearly on the same train of thought too, the plan is probably a good one.

“And how do you say we do that?” Phantom questions.

And he’s fast at that shit too, if you didn’t notice. Stakes watches Sandman visibly relax, obviously relieved that Phantom didn’t shut his idea down. 

“Since Cherri is going to be following them back, I say we do a trade off. And we’ll guide them through the streets. Make sure they’re safe.”

Stakes nods when Sandman looks his way and he can practically see the stress rolling off of his friend. Truthfully, he can’t wait for this to be over either. Rescuing the Four from Better Living _headquarters _was easier than this shit. But he didn’t know them then. He does now.

“That makes sense,” Benz says with a short nod. He uncrosses his arms and walks over to Phantom. “I’ll be on the welcome team. I want to do an assessment on Kobra before we start walking.”

“What do we do if he can’t make the last part of the trip?” Stakes asks.

“Create a distraction,” Phantom answers with a slight smirk. Stakes can only imagine what his idea of a distraction might be. “Make everyone look the other way while we get them back as quickly as we can. Two of us should be enough to carry Kobra if need be. That’ll leave Jet to watch the kid and one other to shoot.”

“Only three?” Stakes questions curiously.

“Someone needs to stay here. Take care of the base and keep Poison and Ghoul company.”

Stakes half expects Poison to repeat their line about not needing a babysitter at the proposition but when he looks over, they don’t appear to be listening to the conversation at all. Their hands are balled into their pants legs in tight fists and they’re curled in on themself, their head down. 

Ghoul looks up though, his expression vulnerable and scared. But there’s a determination in him, a strength that Stakes witnessed earlier when he all but carried Poison to their room. He took care of them, in the midst of his own grief. Just like Stakes promised Kobra he would do. 

But, in his defense, he’d been shocked by how quickly everything had gone wrong. With how suddenly everyone thought that Kobra and Jet were dead. He hadn’t been able to process it in time to be of any real help. And by the time he did, he was getting ready to go on the rescue run. 

He did plan on stopping by before he left though, to check in on Poison and Ghoul. But he’d been in the control room to get his radio when Jet’s call had come in. He ran to Poison and Ghoul’s room immediately after that.

Still. He should have done more. He knows that. And this is his chance to make right by his promise, to look after them when they need it the most. 

Some of the things Poison was saying, the way they were acting, makes red flags flash in his head. Something is very clearly wrong and he gets the feeling Poison has been hiding it for a long time. He noticed it before, of course he did. How Poison would flinch whenever anyone, even their own _crew_, touched them. And Benz told him of their freak out when they were coming to for the first time. They also look like they haven't slept properly since the day they woke up here and Stakes fears that that might actually be the case. 

He’s not a doctor so he doesn’t exactly know what’s wrong. But he knows enough to realize that something _is _wrong, that Poison needs other people to lean on right now.

So yeah, staying with them is the least that he can do.

“I’ll stay back,” he announces, tearing his eyes away from Ghoul and facing Phantom. “I can manage. You guys are better at City stuff than I am.”

Which is… partially true. Stakes never really followed the rules up top. He lived below the streets long before the Underground was officially a place. He knows every inch of this place because he helped design it. It’s his home. 

A selfish part of him is glad that he won’t have to go up to the surface. He hated it when they went up to rescue the Four and it’s way too soon for his liking to even _think _of going back. But mostly, this is for Poison and Ghoul. They need him while they wait for what will likely be the longest few hours of their lives. 

“Okay,” Phantom says, smiling that smile of his that means he knows exactly what Stakes was thinking. “Make the call. We have to time this just right.”

_____________________________________

_____________________________________

“You know you don’t have to come with us right?”

Cherri chuckles and leans into the backseat to buckle The Girl up. He hands her the robot and smiles at her encouragingly.

“Yeah, I know.”

He straightens back up and turns to Jet. His tone is joking, light, but there’s something in his expression that tells Jet he won’t be able to talk him out of this.

“I just…”

“It’s _fine_, Jet,” Cherri reassures him sternly. “Let me help you for once, okay?”

Jet wants to keep arguing, but he relents and bows his head in defeat. He really does appreciate Cherri’s help but he can’t help but feel guilty. Cherri’s already done so much for them. He doesn’t need to do any more.

“Okay. I just feel bad for you goin’ so outta your way.”

“It’s not a problem.”

Cherri closes the back door with less force than normal. Jet had been right, Kobra’s suffering from one hell of a migraine in the passenger seat. He’s got Cherri’s sunglasses on right now and is trying, in vain, to get some sleep.

“How far are you comin’ ?” Jet asks, jerking his head in the direction of the City.

“I’ll take you ‘s far as I can.”

Jet sighs. He knows there’s no way to talk Cherri out of it, but he really can’t help the guilt he feels for making Cherri go so far out of his way. Jet’s supposed to be good at this, at surviving out here. It’s like the one fucking thing he’s known for- other than dating _the _Kobra Kid. 

And now one of his crew’s oldest friends is afraid to let him and Kobra finish this run on their own. Like they’re fresh ‘joys from the City who don’t know their way around a blaster yet. It’s patronizing, even though he knows that’s not at all what Cherri is trying to say by doing this. 

It sews that little seed of doubt, the one that makes Jet question whether or not they would have survived if Cherri hadn’t shown up. 

The radio in his pocket comes to life with a hiss of static and Jet jumps in surprise. He fumbles for a second as he tries to get it out of his pocket.

“Jet, you there?”

Sandman’s voice crackles through the speaker and Jet shoots Cherri a confused look. It’s not even been a full hour since they’ve spoken last, the Youngbloods shouldn’t be contacting them so soon. Dread fills Jet at the thought of something being wrong on Poison and Ghoul’s end.

“Yeah,” he answers breathlessly as he sits back onto the hood. “We’re here.”

“I’ve got a plan. To help get you guys back here as easily as possible.”

Jet frowns. “What ‘d you mean?”

When he looks over to Cherri, he just shrugs in response. Jet assumed they were already being extremely careful, seeing as they’re taking this break and that Cherri is following them back. How much more safe can they _get_?

“We’re gonna meet you guys just outside the tunnel, on the City side, and make sure you stay unnoticed so we can get you back here in one piece.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me, Benz, and Phantom. Stakes is gonna stay back with Poison and Ghoul. We figured it would be best that way. But,” he pauses, thinking something through. “But if you don’t think all that will be necessary, we can let this play out as is.”

This is Jet’s chance to tell Sandman no, that he’s been in the desert longer than almost anyone else. That he can manage a simple return trip, for fucks sake. They’ve managed before, when things were much worse.

But, part of him is keenly aware that the last time he assumed they’d be fine on their own was the beginning of this run. And just look where _that’s _led them. 

He _wants _to tell Sandman to hold off, to tell him to save his welcoming party for a worst case scenario. But, at the same time, he can simply twist his head and look through the windshield of the car and see why that’s a bad idea. 

Kobra’s right there in the passenger seat, trying to get some sleep before the trip back. His stitches are still fresh and Jet knows that it wasn’t his best job, because his hands shake and he only has one eye now and they’re in the middle of nowhere and- and Kobra _needs _the safety the Youngbloods are offering them. 

The _Girl _needs it.

And, to add to the ever growing pile of reasons why Jet should just let them help, Sandman is going about this the right way. He’s asking them _first _instead of just doing what he thinks is best. He’s showing his trust and Jet should mirror that back by letting him help. He trusts Sandman a lot, more than most people actually. As much as he hates admitting that he needs help, he knows he can’t let his pride decide this one.

Jet sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. We’d appreciate it.”

When he looks over, Cherri is smiling proudly. Jet rolls his eyes at him.

“Awesome!” Sandman says, his own smile audible even through the shitty speakers. “We wanna time it right though, so when are you going to be heading out?”

“Soon, 5 minutes or so.”

“Gotcha. See you there. And Jet?”

“Yeah?” he asks, catching the way Sandman’s voice just changed. It’s softer now, more hesitant. 

“While you’re getting ready to leave, do you think Kobra would be able to get on for a sec?”

Oh. Right.

Sandman said Poison was, understandably, broken up about this whole thing. It makes sense that they’d want to talk to Kobra. Jet has to push down every _ounce _of panic that threatens to rise up at the thought of Poison thinking Kobra was dead for any amount of time. He’s seen them worried over Kobra, how reckless they get, how dangerous their actions become. This was much worse than that and if he thinks on it too much now, when he has no way of helping them from so far away, he’ll end up making a mistake on this last leg of the mission. He can’t dwell on it now. But when he gets back, Jet is going to make sure that the four of them sit down and talk. Actually fucking _talk _about all of this shit. For his own sanity at the _least_.

“Yeah, lemme see if he’s up,” Jet says as he slides off the hood of the car.

When he comes around to Kobra’s door, he finds that he’s not moving but Jet can tell he’s not asleep either.

“Hey, Kobes,” he says as he opens the door. 

Kobra groans a little but he sits up in the seat once he notices Jet standing there. He smiles ever so slightly, a warmth in his eyes that Jet feels like he could get lost in. The Girl is talking to the robot in the backseat, going on about a cat she saw or something? Jet feels his heart lighten at the sight.

“Yeah?” 

Kobra’s voice is rough but he honestly looks a million times better than he did just an hour ago. His color is returning and he even quirks his lip in a half smile when he hears the kid in the backseat. She’s aware they’re listening now so her conversation with the toy is more exaggerated than it was just a second ago. The cat she saw knows how to speak French, apparently.

“Poison’s on th’ oth’r end,” Jet tells him softly.

Kobra tenses and reaches for the comm without another word.

“Poison?”

There’s a pause where Jet assumes Sandman is getting Poison to come over or is handing them the mic. It takes almost a full minute before the radio clicks again. Kobra frowns deeply.

“P? You there?”

“Kobes?” 

Jet sucks in a loud breath without meaning to. Poison’s voice breaks like they haven't had water in days and he can hear how unsteady their breaths are. They sound like absolute shit and that worry he managed to suppress begins to rise up. He wasn’t there to take care of them and now they sound like they’ve nearly fucking _died _again.

“Yep. Can’t get rid of me that easily, P,” Kobra teases lightly.

“You’re… okay?”

The smile that was worming it’s way onto Kobra’s face falls in an instant. Jet heard it too, that clear disbelief lacing Poison’s words. They sound completely broken and Jet begins to realize how long that hour without contact was for them.

Before he was shot in the City, he only had a minute, at most, of thinking his crew was gone. And it was the longest fucking minute of his _life_. It was horrible and it literally felt like it was eating a hole in his chest. Jet can still feel that hopeless despair and raw, burning pain that felt like it was consuming him. He barely managed a full 60 seconds without his crew but Poison went an _hour _without Kobra or Jet. With Ghoul barely able to recognize them.

“Party I swear, I’m _fine_.”

Kobra sits up more, as if that will help Poison when they can’t even see him. 

“I- I thought… I thought-”

“I’m fine. _We’re _fine.”

There’s a soft sound on the other end, something between a sob and a gasp. It’s enough for Jet to feel tears beginning to form in his eyes. He never meant to put Poison though something like this. After all of the promises he’s made to keep Poison and the other’s safe, how could he let this get so out of hand?

______________________________

Driving back goes by fast. Faster than the drive in was by any means. Maybe Jet’s just hyper focused on the road. Maybe it’s the fact that Kobra’s not smoking Poison’s cigarettes and talking a mile a minute. Or maybe it’s that The Girl has somehow managed to fall asleep in Kobra’s lap.

Jet didn’t even see her crawl up from the backseat. But when he looks over, she’s clinging to Kobra like a lifeline. His hand plays with her hair, his eyes droopy from exhaustion and the extra dose of painkillers they risked for the ride back. But he’s awake and keeping her calm, and Jet’s honestly, truly, never felt more in love in his entire life.

This isn’t the time, or the place for such a realization. He certainly has told Kobra he loves him plenty of times, daily. Hell, practically every chance he gets. But sitting here right now, with the evening sun streaming in through the windshield and catching on the blond in Kobra’s hair… how good he is at keeping the kid peaceful and happy… the way his foot taps along to the beat of the song that’s playing softly over the radio. The same song that Jet can’t pay attention to because his head is too much of a swirling mess.

Right now, in this moment, he has never loved Kobra more.

“I love you,” he says aloud, his voice barely strong enough to rise above the radio. It doesn’t feel like enough. Saying it like this, even though it feels as if the words come from the deepest part of himself… it still doesn’t feel like he’s doing this feeling justice. 

Kobra glances over. His eyes are impossibly soft, filled with the exact emotion Jet has burning in his chest. So maybe those three words _did _do it justice, maybe Kobra does know exactly how much Jet loves him.

“I love you too,” Kobra echos in a whisper.

He unwraps one of his arms from The Girl and connects his hand with Jet’s. There’s a scrape on the top of his hand that Jet hadn’t noticed before. It’s not deep, probably didn’t even bleed, but it serves as a reminder of exactly what he almost lost today.

__________________________

Jet watches the sun begin to set. The colors bleed into the blue of the sky, leaving light purples and burning oranges in its wake. It’s incredible, it always is, seeing the sun set out here.

He wonders if he’ll ever see it again. There’s no doubt now that they’re going to be staying in the Underground for a while, if not forever. It’s better this way, Jet knows that it is. The desert may be his home but his family has been pushed to their very limits by this kind of life. And the possibility of getting to grow old with his best friends, with _Kobra_… of being there to help The Girl through her teen years. That’s just something that Jet can’t pass up. That’s exactly what he’s been fighting for his entire life.

He pictures Sandman, already waiting for them at the garage. How he’s older than nearly everyone Jet has ever met. He’s never thought about reaching 40. Hell, Jet’s never really thought past 23. His mom was 17 when she had him and she died long before 30. That’s just how life is out here. But now he has this chance for more and… and how is he supposed to not take it?

He glances over to Kobra as they get close enough to the tunnel for them to be able to really set it apart from the darkened sand it’s surrounded by. Kobra nods once and shakes the kid awake. She yawns and protests, but reluctantly climbs into the back without much prodding.

Kobra looks worn down and Jet knows his pain hasn’t lessened any. Not really. He’s thankful now that he accepted Cherri and the Youngbloods’ offer to help on this last part of the mission. 

Jet glances through the rear view mirror. Cherri is right behind him, following close in case anything goes wrong. But they haven't seen a single soul since the clap. Which is odd but Jet’s not about to test his luck. He can see Cherri’s gun, in his hand on top of the steering wheel. 

Kobra sits up fully and flips the safety off of his blaster, giving Jet a reassuring tilt of his head. Like _Jet’s _the one that needs comforting. 

The tunnel gets closer and with the fading sun Jet can see the orange glow of the lights just inside. He shivers when they enter the opening. 

Normally this tunnel isn’t guarded. It looks abandoned and it’s half buried in the sand so most people steer clear of it. Though, some newer rebels do use this tunnel as shelter for their first few nights in the desert. Others go in as far as they dare and tag every inch of available concrete that the can see. So, for the first mile or so, the walls are absolutely covered in graffiti. Jet has a few pieces of his own down here, from stupid bets he took when he was younger. 

Patrols don’t come through this tunnel but it does lead right into the City. It’s stupid to hang out here for any amount of time. That doesn’t stop people from scrawling their messages in bleeding neon. Prayers to the Witch, memories to fallen crew members and everything in between. He wonders why he didn’t pay attention to this on their way out. It feels like something he should have acknowledged.

He’s not sure why it’s hitting him so hard now. Hard enough to where he can feel tears forming in his eyes.

“Me ‘n Poison tagged down here once,” Kobra says suddenly, gaze distant as his eyes scan the tunnel walls flying by through the window.

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t doubt that the two of them were brave enough to venture down here. Seeing as their shared middle name is “stupid ass decisions”. But there’s also a bit of pride that arises from knowing that there’s a piece of them is in the desert even when they’re not here.

“Yeah,” Kobra continues wistfully. “Th’ day we figured out our logos ‘n shit, we packed up and spent all our food money on spray paint. It was right before we met you actually.”

Jet laughs. “Impulsive. That’s why I love you.”

The Girl makes a gagging sound in the back, reminding Jet that she _is _back there. Kobra giggles and squeezes Jet’s hand.

“Do you have anything down here?” Kobra asks quietly.

It’s a strategy to keep their mind off of this, off of the very real danger that they’re in. Jet can still see Cherri right behind them and he knows the Youngbloods are waiting for them. But if he doesn’t distract himself from all of the what ifs running rampant in his head, he’ll go insane.

“Yep,” he says, popping the “p” and making The Girl giggle. 

“Like what?” She asks curiously, sitting forward in her seat to question him properly. 

“Swear you won’t laugh?” She nods seriously, her eyes wide. “Mostly song lyrics. Ones that I heard and didn’t want to forget. They last longer if you write them down.”

If possible, the Girl’s eyes go even wider. She loves music, it’s like her favorite thing. She’s always humming or singing something under her breath. That’s partially Jet’s fault because he’s the same way. Music just sorta flows through him, it’s who he is. And he can tell that the kid understands exactly what he means because he can see that same connection with music in her.

“Wonder if Ghoul’s got anythin’ down here?” Kobra adds absently.

Jet just shrugs. He’s not sure.

“Stakes to Jet Star.”

He reaches over and picks up the comm. “Yeah?”

“We’re picking you up on the cameras. Sandman and the others are waiting on you and it doesn’t look like we’ve gathered any attention just yet.”

Jet thanks him and picks up the speed. The car settles into silence.

He’s ready for this run to be over and he can’t fucking _wait _to see Ghoul and Poison again. He misses them both so much. 

______________________________________________

______________________________________________

The sound of car doors slamming echoes through the empty garage. Kobra winces, both from the assault the noise makes on his pounding head, and because he’s terrified someone might hear them on the street and come to investigate.

He’s helped out of the car by Jet, who keeps a steadying hand on his lower back the entire time. Thankfully, Kobra’s able to keep his balance and Jet lets go once he starts walking on his own. The Girl has already managed to attach herself to Cherri. She’s perched on his hip as he introduces himself to the Youngbloods. 

Everyone stands a few feet away in a rough circle, Sandman and Cherri talking seriously while Phantom watches the kid like she’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Which is true, the Girl is fucking adorable. It’s just odd seeing such a soft expression on Phantom’s face. He’s got a better poker face than _Kobra’s_. Benz however, is watching Jet and Kobra as they slowly make their way over.

Kobra isn’t as dizzy as he was earlier but it’s enough where he has to go at a slower pace so he can keep his balance. He’s lightheaded too which is probably from all of the sun. But however much blood he lost might not be helping that situation. Jet has assured him that he didn’t bleed _that _much, but the constant glances he makes Kobra’s way tells him that it was probably more serious than he’s letting on.

Benz’s frown grows when Kobra stumbles and nearly trips over thin air. Jet catches him at the last second and wraps an arm over his waist for the rest of the way over. Kobra’s face burns in embarrassment but his head is honestly hurting too much for him to care about making an idiot of himself.

When they come to a stop beside Cherri, Sandman’s face breaks out into a grin. Relief washes over his features, softening the frown etched into his face and easing some of the wrinkles that have grown more prominent since the last time Kobra saw him. Had this whole thing really affected Sandman _that _much?

“Kobra,” Sandman greets, his smile never faltering. “Jet. Good to see you too.”

“Never thought I’d be happy ‘t be back in th’ City.”

Sandman laughs at Jet’s joke and Kobra feels relieved to be back as well. Poison and Ghoul are here, and he needs to get back to them. They’re hardly ever apart this long and it’s already messing with him.

“We’re almost home free,” Sandman assures them before turning to Cherri. “Thank you, by the way. For guiding them back. We really appreciate it.”

Cherri flushes, clearly flustered by the praise and the fact that Sandman's laying it on a bit thick. But it’s well deserved. He saved their lives, Kobra’s sure of it. 

“I’ve known ‘em since they were The Girl’s age basic’lly. It was no big deal.”

At the mention of her name, The Girl huffs and crosses her arms. As if she understood that Cherri was calling her young. Which, she is. She’s _five_. Kobra was in kindergarten at her age. Busy learning how to color inside the lines and how to recite his alphabet. Meanwhile, she’s already learning how to shoot a gun and the best way to stitch someone up when they get blasted. She’s young but she’s never been _young_.

Kobra shakes his head. He’s not making any sense, not even to himself. Maybe he should lay down…

“Hey- hey-”

Jet’s hands wrap around his waist again and Kobra realizes he’d begun to fall. He tries to stand up again, to thank Jet for catching him and just laugh it off, but his knees buckle again.

“Here,” a voice to Kobra’s left instructs. “Set him down over here.”

Then the world shifts as he’s moved and lowered to the floor. Jet’s hands never leave but another pair gently turns his head to the side. It pulls the stitches and he whimpers before he can stop himself. 

“Easy, Kobes,” Jet soothes, rubbing his hand comfortingly up and down Kobra’s arm.

Kobra’s head sways even though he has his eyes squeezed shut as tight as he can. It feels like when you’ve been driving non-stop for days and when you get out of the car, the ground feels like it’s continuing to move underneath you.

He’s caught between wanting to puke and wanting to shake his head so the dizziness will fade. Neither will probably help. 

“Kobra.”

He opens his eyes at his name being called. Benz is on his knees in front of him and Jet is right beside him. They’re sitting on the stupidly clean garage floor and Benz is saying Kobra’s name again. Oh. Wait, he should probably answer.

“Hmm?”

Benz cracks a weak smile. “I was asking if you want to try and stand again?”

Kobra cranes his neck to meet Jet’s eyes. He looks apprehensive, hesitant, but he nods his encouragement.

“Yeah,” Kobra manages, clearing his throat because it feels like he tried to swallow a cactus.

Which he hasn’t tried before, he’s not _Ghoul_.

He stands with Jet’s help, though he’s not nearly as steady as he was before. Benz reaches into his coat to pull out some sort of bottle. Whatever is inside clatters as he takes it out, like there’s a bunch of tiny things rolling around in there. Kobra tries to figure out why that sound is familiar. And also why Jet’s supporting nearly all of his weight right now. 

But his head pounds in time to his heartbeat, both of which he can hear drumming in his ears. It’s loud and it makes it nearly impossible for him to focus.

“Kobra,” Jet gets his attention gently. “Here, it’ll help with your dizziness.”

Kobra frowns and looks down to Benz’s outstretched hand. Two little white pills rest in his palm. He feels sick for a whole other reason. 

Already, he’s had to take _two _entire doses of pain pills and now they want him to take _more _meds?

“I know,” Jet adminishes, his eyes shining with sympathy. “But you have to be able t’ walk on your own.”

“It’s not a very strong dose,” Benz adds, helpfully. “In fact, it will wear off after about 10 minutes. Just long enough for us to make it back to base.”

Kobra gives in and wordlessly takes the pills. Someone hands him water to wash it down with. He feels a hollow ache in his chest as he passes the water over to The Girl on instinct. She sniffs it and shrugs before chugging it. Cherri laughs and ruffles her hair, but he’s already turning to go back to his car. He’s leaving and Kobra doesn’t know why that frightens him so badly, just that it does.

“Cherri wait!” he blurts.

It works. Cherri stops walking towards his car and turns around.

Kobra struggles out of Jet’s hold. There’s a panic he doesn't understand rising up from his gut, telling him that this is it. He’s never going to see Cherri again. He’s not going to be able to watch him teach the kid how to do puzzles. Won’t get to brag to him about the next race and how he obliterated the competition. But that’s just it, Kobra won't be racing again.

It’s unspoken that they're not coming back. They can’t stay in the desert. It’s not safe for them. It’s killing them, inside and out, and if they return to the zones they won’t last. But they have a chance to survive, with the Underground. And Kobra would be an idiot to not see that.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s ready to say goodbye to people like Cherri, who’s honestly one of his best friends. It’s only just now hitting him that the people who taught him and Poison how to survive, the people who he knows without a shadow of a doubt he can trust with his life, he will probably never see again. 

Without thinking, and choosing to ignore Jet telling him to take it easy, Kobra stumbles across the short distance between him and Cherri.

Cherri’s face falls but he meets Kobra halfway. He all but collapses into Cherri’s arms and it takes everything in him to not cry. Because he might be Kobra’s best friend but he’s also the closest thing he has ever had to a father or an uncle. He doesn’t really remember his parents in the City. They were on so many drugs that the droids that were eventually brought in might have actually cared more about him and Poison than their real parents did. But Cherri’s always taken care of the two of them. Always made sure they were okay. 

“Not forever,” Kobra demands, his voice trembling and catching in his throat.

He feels Cherri’s shaky breath, how his grip gets just a little tighter.

“Not forever,” he agrees, squeezing one more time before stepping back.

Kobra wipes his eyes on his sleeve and ignores the feeling of everyone else staring at him. He doesn’t let it bother him for once. 

The Girl bounds over and tackles Cherri much like Kobra did. Cherri chuckles and picks her up easily. Jet’s hand rests on his shoulder and Kobra leans onto him. He’s exhausted just from that, just from walking over to Cherri, and he still has another 10 minute walk to do after this. But the thought of seeing Poison, of seeing Ghoul, makes it seem less daunting. 

As Cherri sets The Girl back down carefully, he waves one final time and walks over to his car. Kobra watches him get in, crank it, and fade down into the orange glow of the tunnel in front of them.

“Come on,” Sandman urges them, slinging his bag on his shoulder. “We have a few minutes before the meds Benz gave Kobra kick in. You need to get into your disguises as quickly as possible.”

Jet helps Kobra into his clothes, which are baggy and uncomfortable. They’re guys clothes, thank _fuck_, but they’re big on him. The long sleeved, dark grey shirt nearly touches his knees and the pants are too big at his waist, but stop short at his calves. He looks ridiculous but these clothes do manage to hide that he’s from the desert, so he knows better than to complain about it. Besides, complaining takes energy and he gets the feeling he should be conserving his. 

He’s helped into another hat, some supposedly stylish thing that he hates more than he probably should. It’s ugly as hell but it covers the stitches on the back of his head without rubbing them, so he guesses things could be worse. 

Jet has him sit down while he gets The Girl into her own clothes. Hers is just a simple, pale blue dress and sneakers. It’s nothing like her normal mix matched clusterfuck of a fashion sense. Jet twists her hair up in some sort of head-wrap-thing to hide the curls. From the look on her face, she hates it as much as Kobra hates seeing her dressed like this. 

Jet changes quickly. His is always a little harder because there’s so much of him that screams desert born. His hair, the darkness of his skin, how he walks. Kobra knows that he has more scars than anyone in the City would ever get. Many are from claps, stray laser beams or the jagged metal poking up from the sand that he tripped over one time. A few are from knife fights with those crazy motherfuckers who like to carry switchblades into the markets. There’s one on his shoulder from pushing Kobra out of the way of a laser blast. It wasn’t even that severe of an injury, but Kobra feels fresh guilt bubbling up inside of him when Jet takes off his shirt and reveals the faded mark left behind. 

Then there’s the most recent scar, the huge blaster mark that covers nearly his entire chest. It’d hit him just right so that his unzipped jacket wasn’t able to protect him at all. The shot had nearly _killed _him. 

Jet catches him staring, because of course he does, and crouches down beside Kobra. He slides the shirt down over his head and Kobra isn’t able to see all the various ways that he has nearly lost the man he loves anymore. It never really hit him until recently, how often they flirted with death. How many times a blast hitting just an inch to the left could have done one of them in right then and there.

And it terrifies him.

“I’m fine, Kobra,” Jet tells him seriously. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

Kobra manages a nod but the afterimage of the newest scar on Jet’s chest feels burned into his mind. He can’t stop thinking about it. How if it was just a bit to the side it would have hit Jet’s heart, and then not even Benz would have been able to save him. 

Kobra feels sick just from the thought and he begins to wonder if he could find some Kevlar down in the Underground. That’s what old bulletproof clothing used to be made from. Laser guns are different but the material would still act as a strong layer between Jet and the blasts fired at him. Kobra makes plans to look into that as soon as he can.

“I’m serious, Kobes,” Jet presses, his brows knitted together as he studies Kobra. “I’m perfectly fine. We’re almost back to th’ others. In no more than 20 minutes you’ll get t’ punch Poison like you were plannin’ on doing.”

This time, Kobra’s nod is a little more sure. A little stronger. He shakes as Jet helps him stand but whatever Benz gave him is already beginning to get rid of the worst of the dizziness. 

“Ready?” Phantom asks.

Jet slowly lets go of Kobra’s waist and much to his relief, he doesn’t sway or collapse again. It earns him a proud smile and a peck on the lips from Jet. His heart flutters.

Phantom and Sandman glance at one another. In a split second all emotion is wiped from their faces. Kobra realizes suddenly that they’re not dressed in street clothes. They're wearing the white suit set that Dracs always wear.

Cold fear seeps into Kobra’s veins and he shivers. Inside the City, the Dracs don’t wear those grotesque masks. They look like everyone else. That’s why they’re so dangerous. And, to Kobra’s horror, Sandman and Phantom make very convincing Dracs.

Only Benz looks the same. He’s in his lab coat and normal clothes, a sleek briefcase in one hand and some sort of phone or radio in the other. His face is blank as well and it makes Kobra want to sprint for the nearest exit. It’s creepy as hell how easily they’re able to pull this off.

“Kobra,” Sandman instructs in monotone. “I want you in the middle. Jet, you in the back with the kid. Benz will follow behind you, while I lead and Phantom stays to our right. Don’t speak. Don’t step out of formation. And do not, under any circumstances, make eye contact with anyone.”

There’s a lump in Kobra’s throat, threatening to suffocate him. He feels light headed but it isn’t from hitting his head. They’re going to have to pretend to be captured by Dracs. It’s dangerous, and stupid, and terrifying, and Kobra all of a sudden isn’t sure he’s going to be able to keep a blank face. 

Sandman doesn’t wait on any confirmation. He strides forward and everyone files into place. Kobra chances one final glance to The Girl. She’s a surprisingly good actress, her expression carefully blank. Jet smiles once when he catches Kobra’s eye but nods his head forward to tell him to turn back around.

They step out onto the sidewalk and the stale City air catches in Kobra’s lungs. He wants to cough but he knows that he can’t. He fights the sensation down and forces himself to step exactly when the Youngbloods do. They’re walking in unison and Kobra feels like they’re pretty convincing.

He doesn’t make eye contact and no one stares at them, or really even gives them a second glance. Still, he aches to be able to grab onto The Girl’s other hand. Just to assure himself that she’s alright. He’d like to carry her, so that he knows without a doubt that she’s safe. But Jet has her. And Kobra knows that he’ll protect her.

The sidewalk is nearly deserted. It’s just after 6pm and so everyone is home, preparing for dinner at 7pm sharp. There’s maybe three cars on the entire street, all of them patrol cars. 

Kobra glances up when the formation they’re walking in suddenly gets more compacted. He regrets it instantly.

There’s a group of Dracs walking down the sidewalk directly towards them. Kobra can feel his heartbeat in his head again and his hands shake so badly he has to shove them into his pockets. He stares down at the sidewalk, watching and counting each of his steps. He prays that the Dracs won’t stop them, that they won’t ask questions.

“Halt. State your division and reason for being in this sector.”

They all stop walking. Kobra stares down at his feet and holds his breath. If Sandman can’t convince this Drac they’re supposed to be here, he might be in another firefight today. In the middle of the City. Where the Drac’s reinforcements are probably less than a _minute _away.

“Division 14, Sir,” Sandman answers. His voice is completely devoid of any emotion, any hint that he’s not just some badly programmed computer voice. “I have been instructed to accompany these citizens to the Better Home on 2nd Street.”

“Orders,” the Drac demands.

Kobra hears ruffling and the crickle of paper. Did Sandman really have fake orders printed? How long has he been planning this?

“Very well. Report back to your own sector after completion. Have a Better Day.”

“Yes, Sir. Have a Better Day.”

Kobra keeps his eyes down as the Dracs file past them. He only breathes once they start moving again. His heart races in his chest and he can already feel the medicine’s effect fading. 

Each step makes his head spin just a little more, makes his legs feel like they’re slowly filling with sand. But he can’t stop, not now. So, he clamps his jaw shut and keeps putting one foot in front of the other.

After a few minutes of walking and not passing anyone, Kobra risks looking up. It’s completely dark now but the streetlights illuminate their path. There’s a soft, white glow settled over the streets and Kobra hates that he finds it pretty.

What feels like years later, Sandman stops in front of a large door. It takes Kobra a moment to recognize it as the entrance to the Underground but when it does click, he nearly cries in relief. Sandman knocks four times in quick succession before sliding his hand across the spotless metal from right to left. There’s a click and the door swings open. 

Kobra follows quickly behind him as he steps through. The door shuts and he glances around the room he’s found himself in. It’s the same he came through to get out and Kobra can feel the relief settling in his bones, making him increasingly aware of the exhaustion threatening to drag him down.

The room is small, just big enough for the seven of them and the glass enclosed guard post. 

Each of the Youngbloods show the guards their symbol but Kobra doesn’t hear whatever it is Sandman says after that. He can hear the blood rushing to his head and he stumbles to sit down on the dirty floor.

Jet comes up to him not a second later, wrapping his arms around Kobra’s shoulders and speaking to him in a hushed voice. Kobra can’t make out what he’s saying but he keeps his head resting on his knees. He’s caught between feeling like he’s going to puke and that he’s about to pass out.

“Kobra,” Jet says a little more loudly. “Do you think you can stand?”

He wants to say no. Wants to just sit here and pass out, and deal with everything later. But he can’t say that. So he nods and lets Jet pull him up.

The Girl is right beside him, her tiny arms attempting to help Jet keep him steady. She looks scared and Kobra feels horrible for making her worry.

When Kobra manages to look up again, he finds the Youngbloods watching him. Phantom actually looks like he’s about to carry Kobra himself and Benz is rummaging around in his briefcase. He grins in triumph as he pulls a water container out.

“It’s just watered down juice,” he explains, handing it to Kobra.

It tastes very vaguely of orange juice but it’s good so he takes another drink. He goes to hand it back but Benz just holds up his hand.

“Keep it with you, in case you get thirsty along the way.”

Kobra nods. He can see what Benz is doing, making sure he doesn’t pass out or something on the way by giving his body at least some sort of fuel. Kobra’s too tried to point this out or even think of arguing about it.

“Alright, ready?” Sandman questions, looking directly at Jet.

His hold on Kobra strengthens a bit, until he’s supporting most of his weight yet again. And then they’re walking through another door and down the tunnels leading into the Underground.

The lights are more dim in this tunnel than they are in the main part of the Underground, but Kobra’s thankful for it. It’s easier on his head.

The Girl moves at one point to hold Kobra’s hand and he squeezes out a quick _I love you_, in Morse. She responds with her own series of squeezes but doesn’t make a sound.

Everything sort of fades at this point. Kobra can hear everyone’s footsteps against the concrete tunnel, can feel Jet’s presence against him, but it’s muted and far away. His head swims and he vaguely registers that the medicine must have worn off. 

He doesn't even know he’s unconscious as he goes limp and Jet struggles to keep him from hitting the floor.

_____________________________________________________________

Sandman watches on, concerned, as Jet lifts Kobra into his arms. He’s holding him fireman style, with an ease that suggests this is an often occurrence. But Sandman can feel panic beginning to resurface as Benz quickly takes his pulse and checks on the stitches.

“He’s fine,” Benz announces after a few tense moments that Sandman would swear lasted years. “It’s just the effects of the medicine I gave him wearing off, coupled with exhaustion. But we should get him to his room so he can rest.”

“Wait-” Jet looks desperately at Benz. “We need t’ see Poison ‘n Ghoul first.”

Benz shakes his head. “He needs to lay down.”

“He _needs _to see his sibling and Ghoul. If he was awake you know he’d be telling us the same.”

“Do you really think seeing him in this state will do anything to help Poison or Ghoul,” Benz asks gently, but there’s a punch to his words that Sandman can see as it hits Jet.

“We see the others first and then, trust me, Kobra’s not leaving his fuckin’ room until he’s completely healed.”

And just like that, Sandman is leading them through the tunnels again. As he walks, Sandman lets the facade of the Drac fall from him like shedding skin. He’s always hated how the Dracs act and he hates pretending to be one even more. But it’s a skill he had to learn in order to survive.

The little kid- he thinks her name might be The Girl but he’s not certain- is one of the first desert borns he’s ever met. Well, a _child _that is desert born anyway. Jet’s not from the City but he’s an adult. He doesn’t behave like a small child because he _isn’t _one. There’s a difference.

Everytime Sandman glances behind him, he catches The Girl’s wide eyes. How she’s scanning every inch of the tunnel as they navigate through it. She’s already kicked off her shoes and has been walking barefoot for who knows how long. Sandman wonders if he should get her to put her shoes back on? Surely there's dangerous things she might step on?

But she seems to sidestep every rock and piece of random junk that’s littered about the walkway without even looking down. Sandman slows down and lets Phantom take the lead. He falls into stride beside the kid and blanks instantly on how the hell he’s supposed to talk to her.

“What’s your name kiddo?” Is what he settles on.

She looks up to him and grins, showing crooked teeth but a genuine excitement in her eyes.

“Girl,” she supplies cheerily. “Or, _The_ Girl if you wanna be sp’cific.”

Sandman nods mutely. Thankfully she starts talking again almost immediately, saving him from struggling to figure out what to say next.

“I got a buncha’ nicknames too though.”

“That so?” he asks curiously. It’s odd to him that she doesn't go by her birth name, seeing as she’s so young.

But a voice in the back of his head reminds him that she probably wasn’t given a real name. And desert borns choose their rebel name when they’re a teenager if Sandman remembers correctly. So she’s too young for that.

“What’s yours?” she asks, tilting her head to the side as if she’s studying him. 

“Sandman.”

“That’s a weird name.”

Benz turns his laugh into a cough. Sandman reminds himself to hide all of Benz’s favorite pens later.

“Yeah it is,” he admits with a shrug. 

“I know how to spell my name,” she informs him with a serious expression. Sandman notices Jet start paying attention. “It’s easy ‘cause it’s not long. How ‘d you remember how ‘t spell _yours_?”

“Kiddo, ease up on th’ questions.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sandman assures him, waving his hand a little before addressing the kid again. “I don’t mind. And I guess I just had a lot of practice.”

“I haven't practiced in forever but that’s okay. ‘Cause Kobra ‘ll teach me again if I forget.”

She laughs and glances over to Kobra. There’s a brief flash of fear and concern that crosses her face but it passes so quickly that he’s not sure if it was there at all. He wonders how often she’s seen the Four hurt like this. How many times has she had to consider them never waking up. 

Sandman’s chest tightens and he takes a shaky breath in an attempt to make this sudden feeling go away.

“Here we are.”

Sandman looks up, momentarily confused by why they’re stopping. Somehow they’re already by the control room doors and he blinks as his sense of direction readjusts.

“Ready?” Phantom questions.

He waits until Jet nods before opening the door.

_________________________________________

________________________________________

The door opens with a sharp squeaking sound. It’s impossibly loud in Poison's ears and they unconsciously try to shrink further in on themself. Their head’s a mess, a muddy ocean of fear and panic and guilt. It feels like it’s eating them alive. But they’re just numb. They can’t even feel the chair they’re sitting in. They had been doing better. Kobra had said a few words to them over the radio a little while ago. Just hearing his voice helped, made some of this fade enough for them to think.

But the sound of the door was too loud, too much, and they unconsciously ball their fists into the material of their pants so hard that their knuckles turn white. They breathe rapidly, a distant part of themself pissed that such a little thing has set them off. Again.

But they can feel the Exterminator shoving them back against the wall, they can feel the blaster digging into their skin. They remember every single _second _of blistering agony as it traveled through their entire body before they mercifully blacked out. They can still feel it, like a phantom pain in their limbs that’s so much stronger than it should be. Was Kobra in pain when he got hurt yesterday…

They were told that he’s not dead, that he’s okay, but their mind just can’t seem to latch onto that piece of information. All they can see is their baby brother sprawled out in the sand, bleeding and in pain. _Alone_. 

All because of them. Because they destroy every single person that _ever _makes the mistake of getting close to them.

There’s voices all around them. Some speak softly and Poison is almost able to latch onto the sound and use it to stay afloat. But then someone shouts, a loud barking order that sends pure panic and fear coursing through their veins. Poison feels like they’re being burned alive, every inch of their skin hypersensitive and on fire. They can’t breathe and they know they’re spiraling, they can tell that much, but there’s absolutely nothing they can do.

Because Kobra isn’t here, Jet isn’t here, and as much as they love Ghoul he can’t help them right now. Not like this.

Something shifts and Poison is encased in warmth. It’s too much at first. Too much feeling and too suffocating and this must be what actually, truly dying feels like because they can’t get a full thought out to save their fucking _life_.

But then the soft voice returns. It’s comforting and familiar in a way they can’t comprehend right now. Their thoughts are still screaming but it’s… it’s different now. Almost as if it’s growing fainter, fading out ever so slowly.

There’s someone behind them, arms firmly around them. It’s still too much, too tight that they wonder in a flash of blistering panic if they’re strapped down. But no, no their crew wouldn’t tie them down. Not even now. Right?

How would they know _not _to, asks a dark part of Poison’s mind.

And it’s _right_. They flail, suddenly terrified that this is one of Korse’s tricks and that he’s holding them down to start pumping them full of that same shit that the doctors did before and- and-

Another sound hits them, something high and afraid but… but it’s familiar. It’s… whoever it is is very close to them, right next to their ear. Poison stops fighting, genuinely more confused than anything else.

Something’s off but they just don’t know what. They’re certain that they’re going to feel the prick of a needle again, the cool rush of drugs flowing into their system. Drowning out every independent thought they’ve ever had.

But then… it doesn’t. Nothing happens.

The soft voice behind them continues, steady and strong. The other, smaller and high, starts humming. It’s nameless and just a broken cluster of what might be notes but… but it’s music. And _music _isn’t inside of the City, inside of the labs.

They’re not in the City… they can’t be. So, they must be somewhere else. They vaguely recall that they were safe here… wherever here is. That someone’s here with them…

Ghoul! Ghoul was _here_,with them and-

Their eyes fly open and they gasp at the too bright room. The room feels like it’s erupting into even more noise than before. It’s not loud exactly, just too much of it. It feels like nails are being shoved into their skull. But then the light is gone and the room drifts in and out of focus. Everything’s blurry, especially in the low light. They’re freezing, as if the second the fire that was consuming them retreated ice was shot into their veins. But they’re warming up. Slowly.

Something heavy and warm rests in their lap and, breathing heavily to try and catch their breath, they glance down.

A mass of curly hair is what they see first. Then the tiny arms that are wrapped around them.

_The Girl_.

It’s… It’s the kid and she’s- _fuck _she’s right here and she’s hugging them and- and-

“Deep breaths, Party. You’re doin’ so well. C’mon.”

That's the comforting voice, the one coming from behind them. Jet, they realize. Jet’s holding them… which means that-

Oh fuck. _Kobra_

Where the fuck is he? He’s supposed to be with Jet. _Why isn’t he with Jet?_

“Hey, no no. I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

They shake their head desperately but the words, his name, just won’t form and they can feel themself slipping again because why isn’t he _here_? He’s supposed to _be _here and-

“Let me see ‘em!”

There’s a shuffle as a bunch of people move at once and Poison squeezes their eyes shut at the overwhelming noise around them again. Suddenly Jet’s presence behind them is too much. The Girl is too close. They can’t _breathe_.

“You need to stay down. If-”

“Fuck _off_.”

More noise. Shoes moving unsteadily across a hard floor. A pained groan. Shuffling as someone moves and then- then there’s a new voice speaking to them.

“Party,” the voice calls. There’s something strong in this person's voice. It’s strong enough for them to latch onto it, to use it to float up to the surface again. “That’s it, Party. C’mon. Follow my voice. I’m right here.”

They can’t exactly tell who’s talking to them but the sound of the person is a recognition in and of itself. They can see a toothy smile, so rare that they always feel like they’ve finally done something right whenever it appears. A sense of safety. A need to protect.

Poison allows that to pull them up and then, suddenly, their eyes are open again. Every inch of them aches like they’ve run for days and their head is a dizzying mix of too light and too heavy. They want to sink back down but something stops them.

They lift their eyes slowly, past the brown curls and the face that’s hidden in their chest. Someone’s in front of them. No. Fuck, not just someone.

_Kobra’s _face lights up the instant their eyes meet. They can see the waves rolling off of his shoulders and that rare smile twitches on his lips. There’s so much concern in his eyes though, so much fear.

The Girl squeezes them and they shakily, slowly wrap their arms around her. She stiffens but quickly melts against them. Behind them, Jet sighs and rests his head on their shoulder.

They blink and look back up to Kobra. 

Someone to their side reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of their eyes. The person traces their fingertips down Poison's face, slow and grounding. They catch a glimpse of tattooed skin. Ghoul. He’s right here too.

It doesn’t feel real. It almost feels like wherever they just were, locked inside their own head. But then Kobra somehow manages to tuck himself in on their other side. They’re surrounded on all sides by their crew, by their family. 

How can this be a dream if they’re right fucking here?

“We got you,” Kobra assures them quietly, a drowsy edge to his voice that they only just manage to catch.

The fear at last gives them the strength to speak.

“Are- are you okay?”

To their surprise, Kobra laughs. They can feel him shaking and they’re pretty sure Ghoul is laughing too. 

Someone starts playing with their hair. They’re not sure who but they let their eyes slip shut as they finally, truly begin to calm down. Poison has never felt more safe than they do when they’re surrounded by their crew like this. That panic is still right there, they can feel it right underneath the surface. Waiting for them. Biding it’s time to drag them under once again the second it gets the chance.

But they can almost ignore it right now. Surrounded by warmth and love. By their family.

“You scare the ever-loving _fuck_ out of me and you wanna know if _I’m_ okay?” Kobra asks once his quiet laughter fades.

They pause at his question. Of course they want to know if he’s alright. Stakes had said that he was hurt and-

Two hands come up to rest on their face, warmth floods through them and they manage to look into Kobra’s eyes. That scared little kid they only just remember is gone. The one that dragged them out by their arm, took care of them and made sure they didn’t do something completely stupid. That kid is gone, or more accurately grown up.

Kobra looks at them with nothing but love, the unshakable kind that comes from the kind of life they have. He’s their baby brother but he’s also so grown up. So strong that he’s keeping them afloat with just a handful of words.

“I’m fine,” he tells them slowly, emphasizing each word. 

The thought tumbles through their mind, gaining ground until it’s the only thing they can focus on. Kobra’s okay. He’s okay! He’s alive and he’s breathing and he’s right fucking _here_.

The Girl is still in their lap. _Alive_.

Ghoul’s holding them like he’s afraid he’s never going to see them again and he’s sniffling like he’s trying not to cry. But he’s here. For _them_. 

And Jet’s not moved his head off their shoulder. They can feel his exhausted relief through the contact, can feel how his shoulders shake with each unsteady breath. But they’re _alive_. They’re all alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, did you cry? Cause Let me tell you, I did.  
Second, I haven't really mentioned this but the Youngbloods ain't cis/het. No I don't care if that's not statistically correct or whatever. It's my post apocalyptic universe and I'm gay and i say everyone else is too. Sorry, not sorry.  
I'm probably not gonna put this into actual spoken dialog or anything, just so it doesn't feel like I'm shoehorning in facts about the characters. But for reference,   
Sandman is bi and is very proud of it.  
Benz is ace and we love him. Facts.  
Stakes is just Not Straight. He doesn't do labels or social norms, sue him.  
Phantom is trans and pan because I say so. (yes that's why Benz knew to get onto Kobra about wearing his binder so soon after getting hurt) 
> 
> So yeah, no one I write is straight. Oh well. Could be worse I guess haha
> 
> Also, the Younbloods are gonna start picking up a bit more plot relevance so uh... keep an eye on that sort of thing ;)
> 
> As always, I would love to hear your thoughts/comments on this chapter or the story in general! I live for feedback of any kind and I can assure you that you'd be making my day!  
My tumblr is honestmouse20 if you wanna yell at me that way too. I'm always down to chat!
> 
> See you all next time!  
<3


	18. For every failing sun, there's a morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Cause you're the last of a dying breed/Write our names in the wet concrete/I wonder if your therapist knows/everything about me/I'm here in search of your glory/There's been a million before me/That ultra-kind of love/You never walk away from"  
~Last of the Real Ones by fob~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
*panic attacks  
*ptsd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, this one's one time. It's a miracle.  
Thanks gotta go to i_like_to_wander_around_here for all of her help with this fic! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *Chapter title is from The World Is Ugly by My Chem*

They all end up piling into Poison and Ghoul’s room. Mainly, because it was the closest and truthfully, the two extra steps it would have required to get to the next room were two too many.

Ghoul helps Poison into bed first, tucking them in and instantly beginning to run his fingers through their hair. Jet catches onto that, how could he not? He does a double take and actually takes a moment to _look_ at Ghoul.

Jet finds this strange mix of concern and love contrasting on Ghoul's face. He can see the way his eyes are shining with it, huge in the weak light. He’s leaning over Poison protectively, as if he’s shielding them from the rest of the room. Even though they’re probably as safe as they can be right now. 

They’re already out cold, probably exhausted from what was, honestly, the worst panic he’s ever seen them in. And he’s seen a lot. 

If they _were _awake though, Jet is certain they’d catch onto Ghoul’s behavior right now too. There’s no confusion in his actions, no hesitance when he comforts them like there had been before. It was as if he wanted to help them but didn't know why.

Does this mean he remembers? 

With all the shit that's going on, has Ghoul just not gotten the chance to tell them?

Kobra sways and Jet has to re-adjust his arm around him to keep him from falling. Jet needs to get him laying down soon, but he also doesn’t want to leave Poison and Ghoul in here alone. 

Then again, Poison’s bed is a pretty decent size and both them and Kobra are tiny motherfuckers. Even with The Girl attached to Poison’s side, they’ll all fit _easily_ in one bed.

Jet guides Kobra over, carefully supporting most of his weight. He knows that Kobra _is_ going to be fine, that he’ll be back to normal in a couple of days, but it physically hurts him to see Kobra like this.

On second thought, he might ask Benz to come in later, just to check and make sure that Kobra really is okay. That, and for him to look over The Girl. Just to be safe.

As he gets Kobra snugly in bed, Jet is reminded of the ever persistent ache deep in his chest. It's the kind that comes when you need to cry but you’ve held it in so long that it starts to physically hurt. He’s been pushing this down since… fuck, since Kobra got hurt. It’s been building and getting worse, getting harder to ignore how badly he just wants to sit down somewhere and just_ let it out_.

He hasn’t gotten the chance. Not with everything that’s happened since the clap. And seeing Poison thrash and beg and- and _sob_ only made this worse.

Kobra smiles sleepily up at him, oblivious for once that Jet’s barely holding it together. As he pulls the blanket up to his shoulders, Kobra blinks slowly, on the verge of sleep. Jet manages a smile, for him.

Kobra turns over onto his side after that, so that he’s facing The Girl. When he wraps his arms around her, she gives him her own sleepy little grin. It's not long before she's falling asleep while playing with the hem of Poison’s shirt. Poison, for once, actually looks like they’re sleeping peacefully. It’s a huge difference to just a few minutes ago but Jet’s honestly so, so glad for it.

That’s another thing they’re going to have to talk about, he supposes. He knew Poison was fighting to heal from their fight with the Exterminator but he didn’t realize how _bad _that struggle really was. They were _hysterical _earlier. 

He can still hear the way they had screamed. It rings in his ears and only serves to make that ache in his chest worse.

Suddenly, he needs to get out of this room. It’s too small and the air feels suffocatingly stale in comparison to the desert air he was breathing only an hour ago. God has it only been an hour?

Jet needs a moment. He just needs a second alone. To convince himself that the others _are_ okay. To get his head to stop screaming at him. If he doesn’t step away now, he’s going to break down right here, in front of the others. And that’s the last thing he wants to do. They don’t need anything, or _anyone_, else to worry about.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. There’s-there’s something I gotta take care of.”

If Ghoul notices his stutter, he doesn’t show it. He just nods and turns his attention back onto Poison. Kobra, Jet notices, is already asleep.

So Jet lets himself out. He wants to walk around. Actually- no. He wants- _needs _to sprint down the halls, let his thoughts evaporate with each exhale and stride. But he _can’t_. 

He’s exhausted and besides, there’s not enough room down here for him to really run like he needs to. And somehow that makes this worse. 

Back home, if he was feeling overwhelmed- or just pissed off by something stupid one of the others did- he would lace up his boots and just _run_. He has no way of counting the miles or anything, but the longest he’s ever gone was almost 3 hours. It’s exhausting in the best way. And it clears his head like nothing else.

But he can’t _do _that here.

He’d run into someone or get lost, or maybe even get scolded for running in the first place. The Youngbloods _are_ old enough to be his parents.

So, instead, he walks the two long steps to his and Kobra’s room. At least it’ll be quiet in here. And he'll be able to be alone for a little while.

The door closes behind him with a soft click. The room is dark and impossibly quiet, everything exactly where he and Kobra left it. He can make out the crumpled sheets on the bed, because they were in too big of a rush to leave to make the bed. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand, half finished. He knows those things are there, even though he can barely see the outlines of the bed and the dresser. 

But Jet can almost imagine he’s back in the desert. It’d be nighttime by now and the screaming of insects would ring through the air. The sound keeps some newer ‘joys up but Jet’s always found that it puts him right to sleep. 

He sighs weakly and stumbles slowly over to the bed without bothering to turn the light on. Maybe he can fit in a tiny nap while everyone’s in the other room. The sheets will smell like Kobra and maybe that’ll be enough for him to calm down.

He doesn’t get that far. With the lights off, he misjudges the distance to get to the bed and ends up banging his shin on the bed frame. Jet curses and leans forward until his hands are pressed onto the soft bed, extending his arms to hold himself up. He tries to breathe through the pain but he’s doing a shit job at it. And he’s aware that he’s experienced far more painful things but this fucking _sucks_, so fucking sue him. 

But he chokes on a sob, and that’s it. Everything comes out in one wave, stealing his breath and making his entire body shake. His legs give out and he just lets himself slide down until he’s on the floor, leaning his side against the side of the mattress. 

He pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face as the next sob tears through him. Jet knows that he has to be quiet. He can’t let anyone hear him. But that’s impossible to do when it feels like his lungs are being torn apart every time he tries to breathe.

All of the stress over the past few days comes to a head. That’s what this is, somewhere in him Jet knows that. But it doesn’t make it at all easier. 

Jet coughs and tries to wipe his running nose clean. He hates breaking down like this, especially when the others are so clearly in worse shape than he is. But he can’t help it. It’s just too much.

He tries, and fails to take a deeper breath. 

He’s been holding this in for too long and he knows that he was eventually going to get to this point. 

So he thinks of Kobra. Of the two of them holding hands on the mission. How much he loves him. 

He thinks of The Girl, finally safe and with them again. How seeing her makes everything worth it. Getting shot, going through this mission to get her back. All of it. It’s worth it.

And Jet thinks about Poison. About how long they must have been hiding how bad things really are, maybe even to themself. Despite all the things Poison has kept from him, from all of them, he still trusts them. They’re crew, family. If he were in their place, if he had all of that shit on his chest, he would have done the same.

Jet thinks of Ghoul next. How there was something different about him just now. He might have finally remembered. Jet hopes that’s the case. Poison deserves a win, another weight lifted from their shoulders. The Girl being back helps, Jet had witnessed that first hand when she managed to calm them down. And Kobra being okay helps a lot too, with Jet _and_ with Poison. So, Ghoul remembering might just be that final little puzzle piece. The one thing they’re missing to actually, physically start to heal.

Jet pulls a shaky breath, but it’s stronger than before. A little easier.

He’s lucky. He’s the only one in the crew that’s able to pull himself out of a panic. For some reason, just picturing his friends always helps. It gives him leverage of sorts, a ledge to grip to pull himself up. And while it doesn’t work _every_ time, for the most part Jet can get through on his own.

Even though he’s no longer right on that cliff edge, Jet can’t bring himself to move just yet. The thought of standing right now is far too much. But like this, with his crew next door and that tiny glimmer of hope sparking, things might just end up okay and that Jet _will _get through the next 10 minutes. 

There’s a long moment where Jet just sorta drifts. He’s not quite asleep, not quite awake. He’s just _there_. He lets his thoughts roam, sweeping from memory to memory. 

Him holding The Girl for the first time. The time Kobra bet the diner in a race. How surprisingly good Ghoul is at giving hugs. He’s just the right size and his grip is surprisingly strong for such a small person. 

Poison grinning up at Jet the day they all painted the Trans- AM. They were covered in paint, head to toe, all four of them. They were also a little high off the fumes. But it was okay. 

How happy Poison was when Ghoul finally asked them out. They had smiled and blushed for a solid _month _afterwards. 

Is it too much to hope for his crew to get back to that? Things were never perfect, never easy, but they were good. Despite everything, Jet was happy. 

He shifts a little, stretching out his leg that’s beginning to fall asleep. Resting his cheek on his knee, Jet lets the last of… whatever this was, pass from him. He feels better, if only slightly. His chest doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode or anything anymore, so that’s a good thing.

Which means… he should probably get up. There’s no telling how long he’s spent freaking out in here. He should go check on the others. Just in case.

Jet drags himself up and leans against the bed until his head stops spinning. Food, he should probably grab some. Last time he ate was this morning at Doc’s base. 

But checking on the others comes first. They could probably use some food too.

Once in the hallway outside their door, he pauses. Jet scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand and runs the other through his hair. He doesn’t want them to see that he’s been crying, even if it’s probably going to be noticeable either way.

He knocks quietly and opens the door, bracing himself for anything. The second he takes a look around the room though, an unexpected smile worms it’s way onto his face and his shoulders sag. 

He can see Ghoul, now asleep too, leaning over in the chair with his head resting on Poison’s shoulder. The Girl’s squished between Kobra and Poison, who are also fast asleep. It’s a peaceful moment. One that Jet can almost physically feel mend the damage from the past few weeks. 

He backs out of the room without a sound and heads off to find the cafeteria.

________________________________________

_______________________________________

_“Make it bigger!”_

_Ghoul smirks and presses a button on the control box Kobra helped him make. He’s technically working right now, testing out some new bombs before he tries to sell them. But letting the kid help makes this even more fun._

_She loves the explosions almost as much as he does. He’s taught her well._

_“Ready shortstack?” he asks, getting down on one knee so that he’s eye level._

_She nods quickly and he double checks the ear protectors on her head. Jet’ll kill him if he ends up making her deaf. Not that he’s _that_ reckless. But still, better safe than sorry._

_“Wanna do th’ honors?”_

_The Girl grins and jumps up and down with excitement. Ghoul laughs but points to which button she needs to press. She looks once over to the blast zone, already riddled with craters from the day’s numerous tests, and presses the button. _

____________________________________________

_____________________________________________

_Something touches his face. He bats it away, already telling himself that he’ll deal with the insect problem in the morning. It’s too fuckin’ early for this shit._

_But then the thing comes back, this time it’s almost as if whatever it is is patting his face. Trying to wake him up._

_Confused, Ghoul blearily opens his eyes. His neck is sore and he realizes a moment later it’s because he fell asleep in one of the booths. But there’s a shadow right by his head, hidden by the darkness the room is bathed in._

_For a moment he fears it’s a Drac and he quickly grabs for his blaster._

_“Ghoul?”_

_He freezes and blinks. The outline actually looks too small to be a Drac. _Way _too small._

_Shit. It’s the kid._

_He was about to _shoot _their two year old._

_“What’s wrong, babygirl?” he asks, trying to pretend that _that _hadn’t almost happened._

_Jet would fucking _kill _him if he’d pointed his gun at her. Hell, Ghoul would probably _let _him._

_She whimpers quietly and rocks back a little. But there’s a sniffle that gives her away._

_“You have a nightmare, honey?” he asks softly, already opening his arms for her to climb up with him. _

_She tucks herself into his side, tiny hands fisting the collar of his shirt. She sniffles again and shakes her head. His heart breaks a little at that. He wishes there was more he could do, that fighting nightmares was as easy as wiring a bomb. If that were the case he’d make sure none of the others had a bad dream ever again._

_But that’s not a thing he’s capable of. All he can do is hold her._

_“Shh, baby it’s alright. I’ve got you.”_

_Eventually she falls back to sleep right as the first rays of morning sun begin to drip through the windows. Ghoul should probably get up. He has a lot he needs to do today. But he doesn’t want to risk waking the kid up. So he closes his eyes and, eventually, drifts off as well._

__________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

_Ghoul grins to himself as he slowly pushes the wooden door open. The room it opens up into is dark and quiet, save for the soft snores coming from the mattress. He can only just make out the outline of Poison underneath the blankets. _

_He’s been awake since the second the sun was up, as usual. It’s impossible to sleep when the sun is up and there’s so much that he could be doing. Already, he’s started the wiring on a new bomb prototype he’s been working on for a while now. Plus, he’s eaten breakfast- at Jet’s insistence- and even fed The Girl her’s. _

_But now he’s bored. Jet’s fun and all but his lecturing gets old fast. Sure, building a roof deck-thing is probably not a good idea when he owns approximately zero safety equipment. But for all the time the four of them spend up there stargazing, he figures an actual flat area for them to lay would be nice. _

_So, rather than listening to Jet telling him he’s going to break his neck every two seconds, Ghoul’s gonna have Poison help him today._

_Normally, he’d let them sleep. Seeing as they get as little sleep as Kobra does. But they’ve slept like six whole hours all week. And it’s already noon. So he doesn't feel as bad about waking them up._

_Ghoul lets the door shut behind him and he quietly tiptoes over to their mattress. They're still snoring and he can just make out the shock of red hair against dirty white pillows. There’s a mess of blankets where he had slept but for the most part, Poison’s taken over the entire mattress. Typical._

_He gets right up next to their head and his grin gets even bigger. He might as well have some fun with this. _

_“Poison,” he singsongs quietly. _

_They groan and burrow into the blankets more. Ghoul barely manages to keep from cracking up._

_“Kobra’s in the kitchen tryin’ t’ eat your pop tarts.”_

_They sit up so fast that Ghoul barely gets out of the way in time to keep from cracking their heads together. _

_“He’s doin’ _what_?” they demand sharply, expression deadly in the low light._

_But Ghoul’s laughing too fucking hard to even attempt to keep the prank going. Their face right now is so fucking worth it. _

_Poison squints as Ghoul hiccups in an effort to stop laughing. Then they finally catch on._

_“You fuckin’ asshole!” they shout, shoving his shoulder hard enough to where he tumbles off the mattress._

_It’s not a big fall but it still should have probably hurt. Ghoul doesn’t care, he just keeps giggling. _

_Poison’s always the most fun to fuck with. They’re so gullible and their reactions are the best._

_“Shit. Are you okay?”_

_But they’re laughing too now, even though he can see them trying to stay mad. They can never stay mad at him though. Which is why pranking them is so much fun. _

_“I fuckin’ hate you, asshole,” they tell him seriously, leaning over the mattress to offer their hand._

_They pull him up until he’s sitting. The giggles are dying down but the grin stays plastered on his face. Poison’s not given up on trying to glare at him. It makes something warm and fuzzy seep into his bones. The way the amusement dances in their eyes and how they still look cute, even when they’re trying to simultaneously glare and pout at him._

_“Liar,” he tells them. “You could never hate me. I’m too adorable.”_

_Poison rolls their eyes so hard that they look like they just got possessed. It does nothing to help him stop giggling._

_“A fuckin’ adorable little shit. Why do I love you?”_

_Ghoul smirks, because hey, he is both of those things. And Poison loves him _for_ those reasons, not in spite of._

_“Because I have a nice ass?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows._

_Poison fake gags and he puts on his best offended look. They smile at him, soft and completely different from the teasing from just a moment ago. It’s an unspoken I love you and Ghoul feels like he’s drunk on this feeling. On the way Poison’s smile hits him, knocks the air from his lungs in the best way._

_He nearly combusts on the spot when they lean over and pull him into a kiss. Ghoul melts into it instantly, letting them do whatever they want. It feels like flying. Just like what those cheesy romance novels describe it as. Ghoul only knows because Kobra hoards those fuckers and swears on his life he’s never read a page of them- which is a lie._

_Ghoul stops thinking of Kobra and lets himself get fully lost in the feeling of kissing Poison, lets the feel of their hands distract him from everything else._

______________________________________

_____________________________________

Poison wakes slowly.

Their head feels stuffy, heavy as if they’ve had too much to drink. It’s a feeling they know well. So they wait for the rest of it to hit them. They hope there’s a bucket or something next to their bed, getting up will be entirely too much effort if they end up having to puke.

But it never comes.

They do notice, however, that someone is breathing next to them. Soft, quick breaths right next to their ear and a weight on their side. 

The Girl, they realize instantly. She’s fallen asleep on them. Which isn't a rare occurrence. Sometimes she can’t fall asleep at all unless she’s clinging to one of them. 

Slowly, as the fog of sleep lifts from their mind, the events of the past day or so roll into focus. 

Poison can feel the panic threatening to overtake them with each memory that surfaces. But, they focus on The Girl. How she’s sleeping so peacefully, right here beside them. How Kobra was there earlier, speaking to them. 

The details are fuzzy and they don’t exactly _want _to remember, but they’re fairly certain Kobra _was_ there. He’s the reason they’re not _still _freaking out. 

Carefully, Poison opens their eyes. The room is bathed in a soft light, the kind that makes everything feel like dusk. It’s nice, actually. Comforting. Bright enough for them to see the entire room but not so bright that it makes their head hurt.

The Girl is right where they knew she’d be, face buried in their side with their arm around her. Right _behind _her though, Poison’s genuinely surprised to see Kobra. He’s deeply asleep, face gentle and relaxed. 

He looks almost normal, like he does whenever he passes out on the couch in the diner and they all try to be as quiet as possible to let him sleep. 

Against everything, seeing him brings a smile to Poison’s face. It feels weak but also, not? Like they’re not okay, not even fucking close, but this helps. A lot.

“Morning, P.”

They jump at the sudden voice. There’s a moment of panic, blind and suffocating, but then the feeling of someone’s hand holding theirs pulls them from it. The only person who does that is…

When they open their eyes the second time, Ghoul’s face is impossibly close to theirs. Poison’s heartbeat picks up again, this time for an entirely different reason. There’s something so soft in his eyes, in the way he lifts one of his hands to card through their hair. It’s grounding and enough for them to push most of the panic down.

“You’re alright. We’re all here,” he assures them softly.

They nod and focus for a moment on trying to breathe normally. He keeps running his hands through their hair, serving as the best possible distraction. Because even though it’s faint, they can still feel that warm affection bubbling up in their chest from his actions. It’s just… so loving and gentle that they can almost close their eyes and pretend that nothing’s changed.

The Girl sighs and mumbles something in her sleep. They fear for a moment that she’s going to wake up, that they’ve woken her. Once she’s up, they doubt she’ll want to lay around and cuddle like this. She’s too hyper for that. And, selfishly, they want to stay snuggled up with her as long as they can.

But, thankfully, she doesn’t wake up.

The next few minutes of quiet help Poison get their breathing back on track a little. Or well- they don’t feel like they’re about to pass out anymore. So it’s progress. 

Cautiously, they open their eyes again, slowly this time. Ghoul’s right where he was, watching them with such gentle affection that the warmth in their chest grows.

“How’re you feelin’?” he whispers, keeping his voice down so that the other two can sleep.

Poison hums and tries to figure out if there’s a word for how they feel.

They’re heavy, like they’ve been running all day. And… tight? Like they’ve sat in the sun too long. Their head hurts and so does their throat. But, they’re alright right now. The panic isn’t as strong, the fear is muted, and they can think clearly. So yeah, they’re definitely better than they were.

“Good,” is what they decide on. 

Speaking is too much effort and really, they honestly just wanna go back to sleep. Maybe when they wake up again they’ll feel even closer to normal.

“I’m glad,” Ghoul tells them earnestly, a sincerity in his words that hits Poison hard. 

They get why Kobra would stay with them. He’s notoriously clingy when they’re hurt or go through one of their little breakdowns. But Ghoul doesn’t really know them anymore, so _why _would he stay by their bedside like this? That doesn’t make any sense.

Come to think of it, why would _Kobra_ stay. He’s the one that’s _actually _hurt. The others shouldn’t be worrying over them like this. And besides, they’ve got The Girl right here. Jet and the others should know that they wouldn’t try anything like _that_ with her right here. And they’re not even _that _bad off. 

It was just a rough day, is all. So why the hell is everyone sitting here with them like they’re waking up from getting fucking shot in the throat again?

Shit. 

Shit- no. No.

_Korse’s smile. Cool metal… the exact moment they realized that they were going to die. They-_

“Hey, hey, Poison.”

Ghoul’s voice cuts through the vision… flashback?. But it does, it cuts through the blinding panic that’s threatening to take them under. It snaps them out of it, hard enough for their head to spin. They gasp and cling to his arm, fighting against the memories threatening to return.

“You’re alright,” he tells them, “you’re okay. We’re all here.”

They nod as much as they can and hold onto The Girl a little tighter with their other arm. Poison breathes slowly for a long time, long enough for them to get slightly more in control. 

Once again, they find themself wondering why Kobra would feel the need to sleep in the bed with them. They can hear him snoring softly, can hear when he rolls over. Surely he’d sleep better with Jet, in their room.

Poison also just doesn’t get why Ghoul is still in here with them. Why would he help them like this? Why would he care so much about someone he doesn’t know anymore?

“Why?” they force out, praying Ghoul will know what they mean.

He’s frowning when they look over. 

They also notice, for some reason, that Ghoul’s not wearing his jacket in here. Poison can see almost all of the tattoos on his arms and hands, how the dark ink stands out against his skin. The way the familiar designs feel etched into their mind just like it is into his skin.

“Why what?”

“You- you’re all here…. Why?”

Poison watches something sad and… uncertain pass over his face. It’s almost regret. Or guilt? Has something happened?

“We didn’t want you to be alone and- and we jus’ got the kid back.”

“Do you remember her?” they blurt, wincing at their bluntness the second the words leave their mouth.

They don’t mean it like that. Poison _knows _that Ghoul’s doing his best to remember, that this isn’t his fault. But if he doesn’t even remember why having The Girl back is such a big deal, he shouldn’t be saying things like that. 

“Yeah.”

Poison’s eyes snap up to Ghoul’s. There’s no way. 

He _remembers_?

Ghoul nervously looks down at his hand- the one that’s not continuing to play with a longer strand of Poison’s hair. They trace the lines of the letters across his knuckles with their eyes. _Lost Cause_.

“It hit me when I saw her walk in. I got like… glimpses of us over the years. More so than before.”

Poison can feel the tears threatening to fall build in their eyes. They’re overwhelmed with a mix of pure joy that Ghoul’s finally remembered something more concrete, that The Girl will never feel the pain of him not recognizing her. But then there’s that little spike of… it’s not jealousy. Not really. But it hurts that he’d remember _her_ before he remembers them. They hate themself for that.

“That’s good,” they tell him, wincing at the way their voice breaks and gives them away.

Ghoul’s expression falls a bit, like they’ve told him off. They feel horrible for hurting him, it’s not at all what they meant to do. But how are they supposed to just _ignore_ how badly this hurts them?

“I uh… I remembered a bit more too. Just a bit ago, when I fell asleep.”

They don’t allow themself to hope. They’re too exhausted, too raw for this. Poison can’t take their heart breaking anymore than it already has. It’s already too much, they can’t take anymore.

“It was… it was about you.”

Ghoul looks up from his hand. There’s something there, something in his eyes that Poison feels like they’re drowning in. But not in a bad way. It feels like coming home. Like kicking their boots off and all but collapsing in a booth. Like when Ghoul will curl up with them at night and they wrap their arms around him. Keep him safe. Just for that little while. Fall asleep to the sound of his breathes, dizzy from the way he kissed them goodnight.

They don’t want to hope, to even think that he means what they think he means. Because he _can’t_. He can’t remember just like that. Out of fucking nowhere after all this time. After everything.

“Me?” they whisper.

He smiles then, that stupid lovesick look he gets sometimes. Poison’s heart stutters.

“Um… I’ve been getting memories basic’lly all morning. Mostly th’ kid. But there was one of you. Of us. And I'm… I’m still tryin’ to put the pieces together but… but I think I know.” Poison can’t speak. What the hell are they supposed to _say _to that? 

“I think…” Ghoul begins slowly. “I think that I love you.”

He looks up then, searching for their reaction. They can see the vulnerability there, the fear that they’re going to reject him. And that’s not fucking _fair _because this is the one goddamn thing they’ve been waiting on for _weeks_.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me,” they demand. But it’s weakend by the tears that are so close to falling, by the way their chest tightens up in relief and so much fucking fear.

This can’t be real. He can’t remember them. It just… it’s not something they ever thought they’d hear from him again. And now that he’s said it, out loud and so fucking softly that they feel like they’re going to implode… it’s almost too much.

They can’t take this being a joke, this being a misunderstanding. It’ll kill them. They’re barely holding it together now but anything more, and they know that that’ll be it.

“I’d never lie about that, P. I- I can’t believe I fuckin’ _forgot_.”

“ ‘s not your fault,” they whisper, letting their eyes fall to the sheets they’re wrapped in.

Suddenly they feel bad for ever being mad at him, for ever doubting him. He doesn’t deserve this, shouldn’t have to deal with them. They can see the pain so clearly on his face. And it’s _their _fault. 

“Hey, no.” He lifts their head gently until their eyes meet. “None of this was your fault, don’t you dare blame yourself. I just- I am so fuckin’ _sorry _that I put you through all of that. Fuck… I didn’t even _know_.”

There’s tears in his eyes and they make the color of his irises shine. It’s beautiful. _He’s _beautiful.

His expression is so genuine, the barely there smile on his lips so strong. It hits Poison now, that he’s being serious. That he _does _remember.

But there’s that little dark part of their mind, ever present, that reminds them that they don’t deserve this. They lied to him, for weeks they’ve lied to him. They let him struggle and stay confused just because it was easier on _them_. Because they were too afraid of rejection to do anything to help him.

If he knew, if Ghoul knew how much they kept from him… he’d hate them. They’d lose this, this moment and his smile. His love.

Everything. They’d lose everything.

But, they have to tell him. They can’t lie anymore. This has taken everything out of them, they have nothing left.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he assures them, as patient as always.

“I _do._ I let you struggle this whole time. All I had to do was tell you… tell you that I love you. But I couldn’t.” Poison shutters and they squeeze their eyes shut, simply so they don’t have to see the anger that’s sure to be on Ghoul’s face.

“P, look at me, please?”

They don’t want to. They don’t want to see how they’ve driven him away, the only person who’s loved them like this. But they look up anyway. Just for him. Because they do love him, they love Ghoul more than almost anything.

His face is carefully blank but there’s a tension there that they fear is anger. Or… or even worse. Hate. They don’t know what they’re going to do if Ghoul hates them now. They don’t blame him but-

“I know why you didn’t tell me,” he starts slowly, cupping his hand gently against the side of their head.

Poison tries not to lean into the touch but they do so anyway. 

“Party I know how you think. You think that this was some proof, some sort of sign that we weren’t meant to be together. You wanted to see if I’d come back on my own, not because you told me how things used to be.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Me forgetting _hurts _you, you’re allowed to feel hurt by what happened. Party. It fuckin’ _sucked _and I can’t believe that you had to go through that on your own. But it’s _not _your fault, it’s no one’s fault. And it sure as hell isn’t a sign that we shouldn’t be together.” Ghoul smiles then, gentle and reassuring. “I _love _you. Nothing can change that. Not losing my memory. And definitely not anything you could do. You’re stuck with me.” 

Poison can feel the tears welling in their eyes but there’s no words that could do this feeling justice. It’s overwhelming, in the best possible way. Knowing that he loves them, that they didn’t fuck this up. That Ghoul doesn’t care that they’re broken and they overthink things, that they doubt so easily. He loves them… how are there words to describe that feeling?

“I love you,” he says again, like he’s trying to make sure they latch onto it. “I love you, Party. Nothing can change that.”

“But- but I-”

“Easy,” he soothes, leaning forward to press his lips to their forehead. “What’s wrong?”

They take a deep breath and try to get their thoughts to come back online. 

“So.. you just love me again? Just like that?” Poison feels his smile against their skin and he kisses the top of their head before pulling back to answer them.

“I never stopped. I just… didn’t know what that feeling was until I remembered. But I didn’t stop for a single second.”

“I love you,” they manage at last. The words hold every ounce of love that they have, they force them to. They have to make sure Ghoul knows it. That’s the only thing that matters. “I love you. Fuck, Ghoul I love you and-”

“Easy P. _I know_. I love you too.”

Poison watches, confused just a moment when his eyes flicker to their lips. But then it clicks and suddenly their heart races for an entirely new reason. He glances back up to them, a silent question ringing through the air. The Girl’s still right next to them, so is Kobra. But you know what? Fuck it.

Ghoul seems to catch their train of thought and he smiles. It’s an easy, gentle sort of smile that makes Poison almost forget about everything else.

He leans over until their lips are millimeters apart and glances up one last time, making sure they’re okay. Before they can tell him to just kiss them already, he’s closing the distance and pressing their lips together. It’s soft and sweet, slow and yet so powerful that Poison loses all track of anything that’s not Ghoul’s lips against their own.

“Wow, took you two long enough.”

Poison jerks back, eyes wide as icy panic shoots through them. It’s nauseating how fast the panic fills them. Have the Dracs found them? 

Shit where’s their gun?

Oh god, The Girl. They need to get her out. They need-

“Shit, sorry.”

Ghoul pulls them up until they’re able to lean their head on his chest. He wraps his arms around them and it’s several long minutes of him speaking to them in a soft, quiet voice until the fear recedes. It leaves them feeling numb, broken.

Eventually, after what feels like ages, they look over to find Jet standing in the doorway. He looks so apologetic as he and Ghoul talk about something that they can’t seem to focus on. A sharp jab of regret and guilt hits Poison. They shouldn’t be afraid of Jet. 

“ ‘s okay,” they tell him under their breath.

They’d gotten so lost in kissing Ghoul, in the fact that they _can_ kiss him, that they’d let their guard down. It’s not _Jet’s _fault they freak out over nothing.

Poison needs to pull themself together. They’ve never been this jumpy, this fast to just freak out. Not even when Kobra got the flu, not even then did they freak out this much. What the fuck is _wrong_ with them?

“Are you okay?” Ghoul asks, taking one of their hands in his own.

They nod. 

“Liar.”

Poison looks over and notices, for the first time, that Kobra’s awake and _watching _them. They’re flooded with embarrassment because he just probably saw them kissing Ghoul _and _the panic attack they had just because Jet walked in. They want to sink into the covers again and hide there until they can get themself under control again. But that would mean having Ghoul not hold them like this anymore, and that’s out of the question.

His arms are tight but careful around them, keeping them close and safe. They can feel his breaths, how his chest moves with each one. They can smell him, the faint hints of grease and dirt that somehow smells good. Like home. 

“Here,” Jet says quietly, letting the subject of Poison not being okay drop for the moment. “I went on a snack run. We all need ‘t eat.” 

He sets the plates of food down on the dresser and helps Kobra sit up. Kobra winces and holds his head in his hands while Jet keeps him steady. That fear from earlier springs back up.

“You’re _hurt_.” Kobra flashes them a tired look. But there’s a light of amusement hidden in there as well.

“Mostly just a headache at his point. It’s not that bad.”

Poison wants to argue, to insist and bring up how pale he’s gotten just from sitting up. But Jet doesn’t correct him, so that must mean he’s telling the truth, right? 

The Girl yawns and stretches, sleepily glancing up at Poison. They’re filled with love again, with that warm fuzzy feeling that they’ve come to associate with their family. It feels amazing to have her back here. They’ve missed her so fucking much. 

“Mornin’ baby girl.”

“Morning,” she says through another yawn. “Food?”

Jet laughs and hands her a sandwich. There’s an egg and what might even be cheese on it. She sniffs it cautiously but takes a bite when Jet motions for her to try it.

It’s inhaled in under a minute and Jet hands her another. She’s growing again, so Poison’s sorta glad the Underground has enough food. The Girl can eat you out of house and home if you’re not careful.

“Here,” Jet says as he hands Kobra a plate. The food is almost yellow and looks to be stuffed with something. It’s folded into a half circle and has actual _cheese_ sprinkled on top. Poison has no fucking clue what it is though.

“The fuck?” Kobra deadpans, suspiciously poking the food with the fork Jet hands him.

“I asked, ‘parently it’s an egg with stuff cooked on the inside. S’posed ‘t be good.”

Kobra leans over the plate and pokes it again, but then he just shrugs and cuts off a corner with his fork. 

“Ghoul, I got you a bit ‘a everythin’.” He hands Ghoul a plate that’s damn near overflowing. “It’s for both of you.”

There’s regular eggs, bread that has something smeared over the top of it, and some kind of meat? Poison’s not sure. It almost looks like sausage but that shit is almost impossible to find.

Ghoul helps them sit back against the headboard alongside Kobra and The Girl- even though they _could_ do it on their own. It’s nice though, having him take care of them. He sets the plate on their lap and Jet hands them forks of their own.__

_ __ _

Poison’s not really hungry… not when their stomach still feels upset from all the anxiety that’s already hit them today. But they eat anyway. They can tell the others are watching them, making sure they eat.There’s no point denying that they should eat.

_ __ _

Ghoul inhales his half of the plate, almost as fast as the kid with her first sandwich. Jet, forever helpful, scrapes some of the food left over on his plate onto Ghoul’s.

_ __ _

“Aren’t you hungry?” Poison asks.

_ __ _

The Youngbloods said they had plenty of food. Hell, Benz practically shoved food down their throats at first because he’s dead set on the fact that none of them eat well in the desert.

_ __ _

“I had some earlier. I’ve been up for a while.”

_ __ _

They notice Kobra squint at Jet, clearly trying to decide if he’s telling the truth. Jet just rolls his eyes and extends his pinky towards Kobra.

_ __ _

“Pinky swear.”

_ __ _

Kobra squints a little harder but connects his pinky with Jet’s. They shake on it once and Poison finally notices the additional bracelet on Jet’s wrist.

_ __ _

Orange. Today’s a ‘they’ day. Fuck, how had Poison of all people _not_ noticed that.

_ __ _

“Once we finish eatin’,” Jet continues now that Kobra’s no longer worrying over them. “Benz is gonna come over an’ give us a check up.”

_ __ _

“All of us?” Ghoul asks, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

_ __ _

“Yep. It’s mandatory.”

_ __ _

Kobra rolls his eyes. “Thanks mom.”

_ __ _

“Me too?” The Girl asks around a mouthful of egg sandwich.

_ __ _

“Unfortunately, kiddo. It’s jus’ a checkup though.”

_ __ _

“A checkup?”

_ __ _

Her eyes are a little too wide and Poison watches her face crumple. She’s afraid, they realize belatedly.

_ __ _

“Yeah,” they assure her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “Nothin’ scary about it. Benz’ll just make sure you’re feeling okay”

_ __ _

“But… but why can’t Jet do it?”

_ __ _

_ __ _

She looks up to Jet, pleading with just her eyes. Poison watches them fight to not give in.

_ __ _

“Benz is a real doctor. He read a bunch ‘a books and ‘s been doing this for a long time.”

_ __ _

“Promise that it’s not scary kiddo,” Ghoul chimes in, leaning over to ruffle her hair.

_ __ _

She scowls at him and fixes it. But when she looks back at Jet, she doesn’t look afraid anymore.

_ __ _

“Me ‘n you can go together,” Kobra adds, “how’s that sound?”

_ __ _

The Girl nods earnestly and Kobra highfives her. 

_ __ _

For the first time in a long time, Poison feels a genuine smile appear on their face. They’ve missed this. 

_ __ _

_____________________

_ __ _

_____________________

_ __ _

Sandman frowns at the computer monitor.

_ __ _

He’d just been about to crash in his room when one of the guards called his radio. So he’s slightly grumpy, definitely tired, and is currently struggling to see why he needed to rush down here to see a perfectly normal computer monitor.

_ __ _

“What ‘m I lookin’ at?”

_ __ _

O’Neal rolls her eyes at him and he does his best to look offended. He’s tired okay? Why can’t she just tell him what’s going on so he can go to bed? That last cup of coffee wore off hours ago and, with the Four finally together and in one piece, he’d been looking forward to at _least _three hours of uninterrupted sleep.

_ __ _

“Seriously,” he adds. “Why is a blank screen so important?”

_ __ _

“It’s not blank,” she says slowly, like talking to a child. Which, is probably close to the truth with him this tired. But still. Ouch.

_ __ _

“Okay, fine. So a totally normal security footage of a random ally in the City. What’s so important about it?”

_ __ _

“Do you see any Dracs? Any sign of the commotion that was going on just yesterday?”

_ __ _

Sandman glances back over to the screen. There’s nothing. Just perfectly clean streets and apartments with no light shining through the windows. It’s barely 8pm but curfew is something Better Living inforces. And they _do_ have to enforce it. A City of almost a million people is hard to keep track of, hence the Dracs and surplus of security cameras. 

_ __ _

But there’s no one out. Nothing. It could almost be a photograph, the street is so still.

_ __ _

“What the fuck…” Sandman breathes.

_ __ _

“Took you long enough. While we were focused on getting Kobra, Jet, and the girl back here, it seems like the City was focused on getting people under their thumb again.”

_ __ _

“They did this in a _day_?”

_ __ _

“Looks like it. Best I can tell, they dragged anyone who wouldn’t back down into re-education. Most of the apartments are missing at least one person.”

_ __ _

Sandman curses and puts his head in his hands.

_ __ _

Yeah, less Dracs patrolling means that the Underground can re-open, so long as they’re careful about it. But this also means that a fuck ton of people are going through literal _torture _right now. The chances of someone breaking free of the re-education’s effects are… increasingly small. A lot of people are never going to be the same again. And that’s _if _they survive the process.

_ __ _

“Is there anything we can do?”

_ __ _

He hears O’Neal sigh. “Maybe. But aside from storming in there and breaking all those people out, nothing major.”

_ __ _

Sandman nods. 

_ __ _

He knows that she’s right, that there’s no way they’d be able to free everyone inside Better Livings’ labs. Not without it ending as a suicide run. And while a small part of him urges him to do it anyway, he can’t ask that of his crew, doesn’t _want _to.

_ __ _

“So… what if we help out in a different way.”

_ __ _

“How so?” she asks skeptically.

_ __ _

“We’ll open back up. And I mean open wide. Anyone who needs a place to stay, can stay here. We’ll up security, of course. But if someone’s on the run from Better Living, I want them to be able to come here. We save as many people as we can from being dragged into the labs. Kids, adults, entire families.”

_ __ _

“How soon?”

_ __ _

_ __ _

There’s a smile inching on O’Neal’s face, a proud one that tells him she thinks he’s made the right choice.

_ __ _

“I-” he wants to say now. As soon as possible. Open the doors now and send out teams to round people up.

_ __ _

There’s always people hiding from the Dracs in allies and in the more run down neighborhoods, where they’re less likely to be caught. A few teams going through the area could bring in tens of people on a normal night. But tonight? With everything that’s happened, Sandman bets that there’s hundreds, if not thousands of people on the run right now.

_ __ _

But, logically, he knows that they can’t start tonight. He’s exhausted and he’d probably only be a liability if he were to go out right now. The same goes for the rest of his crew, for almost everyone in this base. Everyone’s run a bit thin, some more so than others.

_ __ _

“Tomorrow,” he says at last. “Lets just get some rest tonight. You included.”

_ __ _

She smirks at him but there’s a grateful nod of her head in response. 

_ __ _

“Get some sleep, Sandman. I don’t wanna see you back in here until 10am tomorrow.”

_ __ _

_ __ _

“But-”

_ __ _

_ __ _

“No.”

_ __ _

He sighs but he can’t even pretend to be upset about the possibility of an actual full night of sleep. 

_ __ _

“But wait,” he says quickly. “What if something happens with the Four or-”

_ __ _

“We’ll take care of it.”

_ __ _

He thanks her one last time and all but drags himself back to his room.

_ __ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff?  
is that you?
> 
> This is the most fluffy thing ive ever written for this fic. You should feel proud. And the part in the beginning with Jet was important, i didn't just add it to balance out the happiness. He's been holding all of this shit in for too long and needed a good cry okay?  
Also, the bracelet thing to represent Jet's preferred pronouns (or, well that it's "different" today) is so a thing I used to do. I project onto all of these characters but very little on Jet. so he got a little self projection, as a treat. 
> 
> Uh... i'm sure there's more that i wanted to say here. But it's late and I'm kinda drunk. So, if i think of anything later I'll add it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
I'd love to hear your thoughts! You can send em in through asks on tumblr ( @honestmouse20 -shameless self plug in XD) or through comments here!  
See you all next week! <3


	19. This ain't about all the friends you made But the graffiti they write on your grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
*heavy ptsd in this one  
*flashbacks/panic attacks  
*mentions of scars/ needles  
*drug mentions  
*torture mentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. The End.  
I have a lot to say about this fic but I'm gonna hold off from saying it here. There's gonna be an epilogue posted sometime this week and I'm gonna put my closing thoughts and things at the end of that.
> 
> Before you start reading, @i_like_to_wander_around_here and I made a handy art-thing of all of Ghoul's tattoos. Well, most of them. Archive is weird and i can't figure out how to make a clickable link, but this link will take you to the post I made with the art!  
https://honestmouse20.tumblr.com/post/613232859303542784 
> 
> Enjoy guys!
> 
> *Chapter title, and fic title, are from Save Yourself and I'll Hold Them Back by My Chem*

Ghoul’s not sure how long it’s been since he’s had a good, proper shower. He’s taken those five minute ones, the ones where you just zone out and scrub, a few times since they started staying in the Underground. But he’s never actually savored it, actually taken his time and let himself relax.

Everything’s been… well he wouldn’t call it peaceful, nor would he call it happy exactly. They’re all back together, refusing to leave each other alone, but even he knows that things are tense. No one’s talking, not really. No one but The Girl. 

Having her with them helps, though. Even if Ghoul had to bribe her with the rest of his food to get Poison alone long enough for both of them to shower. She’s clingy, and he gets _why_, but with all of the things running rampant in Ghoul’s head, he needs to be alone with Poison for a little while. Even if they don’t end up talking. 

They haven't kissed since the day he realized he remembered. Ghoul wants to. Fuck, he wants to pull Poison into his arms and just let them _devour_ him.

But he can’t. They won’t.

They look so fragile in the lights of the bathroom. They’re just standing there, arms crossed over their chest and their head down. Ghoul’s not sure what they’re thinking, if it’s anything good. He hopes, for their sake, that it’s something good. 

The reckless part of him- i.e. most of him- wants to just fling his clothes off and stand under the showerhead until Poison gets the message and joins him. He knows for a fact that he hasn’t had a real shower in years, possibly ever. Now that he knows that, _remembers_ that, he doesn’t want to waste any time enjoying it. 

But Poison needs him. They wouldn’t even be out of bed right now if he hadn’t coaxed them out. And even then it took Kobra’s help as well to get them to budge.

“P?” Ghoul says softly, stepping forward a little.

He knows not to touch them until they, at least, know he’s talking to them. It’s been difficult, figuring out what freaks them out and what doesn’t. Especially when they keep trying to hide it. But he does know they’re easily scared, and that scaring them leads to panic. So he has to be careful. This is supposed to be relaxing after all.

“Poison?” he tries again.

Finally they look up and their eyes meet. The hazel of their eyes catches Ghoul off guard because of the way the color catches in the light. How did he go so long without remembering how much he loves their eyes? 

Hell, how’d he go so long without realizing that he loves _them_?

“We gotta get undressed. I don’t think it’s good ‘t shower in our clothes, yeah?”

They frown at him but the recognition sparks in their eyes a second later. If he didn’t know any better, Poison might just be blushing. 

Ghoul leads, crossing his arms and pulling off his shirt with a flur of movement.The bathroom is cold, much like the rest of the Underground, and he fights the urge to cover himself back up against the chill. 

When he looks over, Poison’s staring at him. Their gaze is distant, off. Like it was when they were staring at him in the cafeteria the other day. Like they’re lost somewhere else.

“You alright?” he asks, stepping forward on instinct.

He can’t really tell if this is a good sort of lost or the bad kind. Poison’s been switching between the two so often lately that it’s almost impossible to tell. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they start freaking out in here. Isn’t sure if he’d be able to calm them down before they ended up hurting themself.

“Hmm?” Poison blinks as if coming back to themself, lifting their gaze to meet his. “Oh um... Yeah. Sorry.”

The blush is back, bright against the paleness of their face. Ghoul isn’t sure what it means, or if he should make something of it at all.

“Your turn,” he prompts carefully. “We gotta shower.”

Poison looks uncomfortable, maybe even scared, but they shed their shirt with little fuss. Ghoul tries his best not to stare, to not count every single scar that he can now see. And there’s a lot.

He’s seen Poison shirtless before but somehow this is different, almost like the first time. And they’re only showering, he shouldn’t feel this nervous. 

There’s a large scar, old and faded, that rests right near their heart. It catches his attention, pulls at memories. Distantly, he can remember when they got it. How terrified he’d been. 

He can see the thousands of tiny ones, littered across the bare skin of their chest. Some come with memories but there’s just so many that Ghoul’s not even sure he’d be able to remember them all.

He feels the need to apologize, though he has no idea what for. It’s not his fault Poison’s been hurt so much, that they’ve had to suffer. 

Ghoul must have been staring for too long because Poison shifts awkwardly and crosses their arms over their chest again. They look uncomfortable, tense, and instantly he feels even more guilty. 

“Sorry,” he says, offering them a gentle smile. “I just… I’m sorta remembering as I go, ya know?”

They nod but don’t say a word. They’re staring at him again, Ghoul realizes. He frowns and looks down, trying to figure out what they could be so fixated on. 

His shoulder _is _pretty fucked up, he’s gotta admit. It’s covered in fresh scar tissue that extends down to his chest and there’s remnants of a tattoo of some kind on his shoulder. He can’t really tell what it is anymore. There’s a pang of sadness at the thought, that he has no clue what was there. 

To his surprise, Poison steps forward this time. They’re so close that their feet are almost touching as Poison reaches out to run their hand over his shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, thankfully, but Ghoul still has to repress a shiver. 

“What was there?” he finds himself asking in a whisper. 

He knows that something _was_ inked there but his head is offering no suggestions as to what. He remembers enough now to know that each tattoo is important, that they hold meanings. 

“Bandaids.”

Ghoul snorts and, by some miracle, Poison rolls their eyes at him.

“It’s for _Jet_. ‘cause they’ve patched your dumb ass up so many times.”

“I’m gonna get it fixed th’ second I can.” 

He’s serious. Vaguely, he remembers now. Jet had gone off on him because he’d nearly blown himself up, for like the 5th time that month. At the time, Jet had been more frustrated and scared than actually mad. And Ghoul felt bad for worrying his best friend so much. He’d gotten the tattoo as a sort of thank you, as a sign that he’s grateful for everything Jet’s done for him.

So yeah, the second he gets a chance that one’s getting fixed.

“I’d wait,” Poison tells him softly, their fingers spread out over the scars. “Let it heal, first.”

He nods quietly, too caught up in the way their touch makes his head swim. In a good way. In a, _I’ve missed you so fucking much, please don’t ever let me forget you again_, sort of way. Ghoul’s not sure if he could say that though. If that’d make things better or worse.

“Did I lose any others?” Ghoul asks, curious.

“No. Looks like you got lucky.”

They flash him something close to a smile. He says close because there’s something inherently sad in their eyes, drowning out the brief flash of amusement they’d tried for. 

He glances down again, letting his eyes sweep over his own skin. It’s strange. He remembers most of the tattoos now that he’s looking at them. Remembers what they mean and why he got them. But he doesn’t remember everything. There’s still pieces missing. Like a puzzle where you can see what the picture is supposed to be, but you can’t finish it because you’ve lost some of the pieces.

Poison’s hand comes to wrap around his waist as their other begins to trace along the path his eyes make. Their touch is feather light as it trails down his arm. Memories begin to flow a bit more easily, flashes of smiling faces, tight hugs. 

Poison’s touch pauses at the grenade on his upper arm and they rub the skin there carefully.

Explosions, hundreds of them, flash through Ghoul’s mind. Some are accompanied by searing pain and the addition of a few new scars- many of which Ghoul can see scattered between the ink on his arm. While others come with proud smiles from his crew. Food on their table for the first time in weeks. 

After a moment, Poison’s hand moves again. They trace the lines of The Witch along his forearm. He remembers getting this one, remembers that it was almost a peace offering of sorts. Begging the Witch to watch over his family. 

The mask she’s holding is familiar.

“I remember,” he says, probably for the hundredth time over the past few days. 

Poison looks up, a soft look in their eyes that Ghoul feels breathless by.

“To keep you guys safe.”

“It worked,” they whisper.

He supposes it did, didn’t it? They’re not perfectly fine or anything, but they’re alive. And that’s all that matters, right?

Poison shifts and brings their hand over to his left shoulder. Their touch is a little more sure, more confident. 

“ ‘m glad this one’s not messed up,” they tell him under their breath. “ ‘s one ‘a my favorites.”

Ghoul can’t help but agree. He can remember how long this one took. How Jet had rolled his eyes and told Ghoul he was wasting money on it.

_“You’re gonna get an infection,” Jet chides, frowning in disapproval at his wrapped shoulder and arm._

_The newly tattooed skin still stings and Jet does have somewhat of a point. But it’s worth it. So worth it._

_“Na. That’s what we keep you ‘round for, right?”_

_Jet rolls his eyes and stops trying to open the can of dog food in his hands. Instead he waves the can opener at Ghoul like he’s a disobedient child._

_“Nope. You wanted it, now you gotta take care of it. Don’t come cryin’ t’ me if it gets infected ‘an your arm falls off.”_

_Ghoul’s just about to come up with a brilliant reply to that but a voice pipes up from the hallway._

_“What dumb shit did you do now?”_

_Poison pokes their head through the doorframe leading to the kitchen as Kobra punctuates his question with a perfectly raised eyebrow. It would be menacing if it weren’t for the one year old on his hip. Though, Kobra could still probably manage to kill him if he tried hard enough._

_Instead, Ghoul grins and twists his body so the others can see the wrapped part of his arm. For a second Poison looks concerned, like it’s an actual injury, but then they catch on._

_“Oh sick,” they breathe, coming over and poking at the bandage._

_“If it’s a dick I’m gonna kick you outta the crew,” Kobra warns, dead serious._

_Jet looks panicked for a second, probably just now realizing that Ghoul probably _would_ get something inappropriate on him._

_“It’s not,” Ghoul bites back, barely holding back a childish giggle at the thought. _

_The baby makes a garbled, gibberish sound and flails her hands. Kobra winces at the noise but manages to get her to calm down quickly._

_“See, the kid approves!”_

_Jet puts his head in his hands and starts mumbling like he’s praying. _

_“What is it then?” Poison asks, leaning over him again and squinting like they can see through the bandages. _

_________________

“Ghoul?”

He blinks and he’s back in the bathroom with Poison. They’re looking at him concerned, their hand still on the wires running down from his shoulder.

“Sorry, ‘membered somethin’,” he mumbles, breathless. 

They smile encouragingly.

“When I got this one,” Ghoul gestures to the inked metal and wires that run from his shoulder to his hand. “Kobra thought it was a dick an’ th’ baby agreed.”

He’s a bit shocked by the genuine, actual laugh that Poison makes. They look just as surprised but he watches something in them ease a little. He’d do anything to make them laugh like that again.

“Yeah. I mean, I was surprised it wasn’t too,” Poison teases, even though they haven't moved their hand at all.

“Have at least a _little_ faith in me?”

Poison giggles, actually _giggles_, and Ghoul’s chest goes light. They lean forward again, this time letting their head rest on his chest.

Ghoul’s reminded of the fact that they’re _supposed _to be showering and he has no idea how long they’ve been in here, but no showering has been done. Jet’s probably gonna start assuming things. 

Ghoul tenses when Poison starts tracing the skin right above his heart. Their touch is light, barely there. But the sureness of their motions is what makes him look down. They lift their head to look up at him and the exhaustion in their eyes is back. It’s not the physical kind. Not really.

He gets a glimpse of what they’re tracing. Another tattoo, one he hadn’t noticed before. It’s just two circles, intertwined. It pulls on something in his head but, frustratingly, he doesn’t know what.

Why does he remember every other tattoo but this one?

“What’s that one for?”

The exhaustion gets a little heavier in Poison’s eyes and they look away. He feels them breathe shakily, as if they’re seconds away from crying.

Is it a touchy subject? Something they don’t talk about?

Shit. He was doing so well. He just _had_ to fuck it up, didn’t he?

“Us,” Poison tells him quietly, voice breaking.

It hits Ghoul like a train. 

Flashes of him and Poison. Curled up in the booths, keeping each other company. Whispered I love yous before claps. Knowing that he would do absolutely anything for them, to make them happy. To keep them safe. Him taking their hand and telling them that he wants to spend forever with them.

That he would have married them if he could.

The tattoo isn’t just circles, they’re rings. _Wedding_ rings. 

“Fuck,” Ghoul breathes, leaning on Poison a little more as his head spins.

How the fuck had he forgotten _that_? 

That he had known marriage wasn’t a thing, that rings weren’t even a thing, so he did the best he could. He never wanted Poison to doubt for a _second _that he was serious about wanting to spend the rest of their lives together. Fuck Better Living and fuck the average lifespan in the desert. He was never going to leave them. He’d gotten a permanent reminder of that inked onto his skin. 

He remembers Poison crying when they saw, how their face had scrunched up and their eyes filled with tears. How amazing that night had been, just the two of them. How determined Poison was about getting a matching one, so that _Ghoul_ would never doubt their love.

But then he forgot. He did the one thing he swore he’d never do. Leave Poison alone.

They had to go through weeks of _knowing _Ghoul had that tattoo but also knowing that he had no idea of it’s significance. Of how much he still loved them. 

He’s hurt them so much. So much of this is his fault. How can he ever even begin to make this better?

He wraps his arms around them, pulling them completely against his chest. One hand goes to their head, holding them close as he kisses the top of their head. His other hand keeps them upright. They’re trembling and he’s almost certain they’re crying. It makes his heart ache like it’s been shattered. He did this. 

“I am so sorry,” he whispers into their hair, trying to push every ounce of love that he has into this. He prays that it’s enough. 

Poison hiccups but holds on just as tightly.

“I love you,” they tell him, voice shaking.

“I know. I love you too. I never stopped, not for a second.”

They eventually stop trembling and Ghoul manages to let go. The two of them probably look like a mess, red eyes and shaky hands, but he’s okay with that. As much as he’d like to stay like this forever, hold Poison until he’s certain that they know he loves them, they _really_ need to take that shower. 

The others will worry if they’re gone too long. 

_____________________________________________________________

By the time they finish with the shower and make it back to their room, Benz is already there. He’s leaning over Kobra, carefully inspecting the stitches on the back of his head. Kobra looks bored, if a little uncomfortable, but otherwise fine. Which makes some of Poison’s worry for him dissipate. 

They had, admittedly, been reluctant to leave the room. They’ve only just gotten Kobra back and they really didn’t want to leave him. Even to just shower. 

Which had somehow ended up taking closer to an hour, since they’d both gotten distracted with Ghoul’s tattoos. As much as it had felt like a punch to the gut at first, knowing what the tattoos meant and knowing that Ghoul didn’t, they do feel better now. He remembers, he still loves them. He even _kissed_ them. Again. As they were pulling on their clean clothes. Poison’s head is light with it. 

Or maybe it’s because they’ve been standing for so long. 

Even though they hate to admit it, they’re still weak. It pisses them off, the fact that they’re tired from just standing for a few minutes and showering. They _are _better than what they have been at least. No one’s trying to put them in a wheelchair again, thank _god_. Though, they can’t deny how nice Ghoul’s arm around their waist is.

Benz barely looks up as Poison lowers themself back onto the bed. The Girl clambers out of the blankets and crawls her way into Poison’s lap without a word. She’s not the biggest fan of doctors, and neither are they, so they both get comfort out of the contact. They take a moment just to be grateful that they can hold her like this. It’s something they’re never going to take for granted again.

“You smell weird,” she tells them, in that little kid gossiping kind of way. 

“I do?”

They have to force the sarcasm out of their words. She could either mean they smell good- because of the shower- or that she hates the smell of the soap they used. Figuring out which is impossible and they don’t want to upset her.

“Yeah,” she tells them seriously. “Like, sweet.”

She wrinkles her nose. So she doesn’t like the smell of the soap. They’ll have to remember that when they finally get her in a bath. 

“Sorry sunshine. You can blame Ghoul, he picked it.”

Ghoul gasps, mock offended as The Girl shoots him a glare. Even Kobra chuckles, though Benz scolds him lightly for moving around.

“Sorry,” Kobra mumbles into the pillow, though his smile hasn’t faded.

Poison has honestly not felt this relaxed, this normal, since The Girl was taken. They’ve missed this. Missed their friends, missed how easily they all fit together. How refreshing it is to simply be in the same room as them. 

Even Jet, who’s out cold in the chair by Kobra’s side, looks more relaxed than Poison has seen them in ages. 

“Alright,” Benz says, loud enough to get all of their attention.

Jet doesn’t even stir. They must be really tired and Poison sorta wants to let them have the bed for a little while. That chair can’t be comfortable. Especially if they’ve managed to fall asleep while Kobra was being checked over by Benz. Normally, Jet would be their normal hovering self. It’s a little worrying.

“Kobra, the stitches should be able to come out in a few days. You’re healing fine so you’re off of bed rest,” Benz instructs. “Just, _please_, don’t over do it.”

Kobra agrees as he pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed. There’s a relieved smile on his face as he stands. For a second, he looks unsteady, like he may fall, and Poison’s heart lurches. But then he straightens up and stretches, looking insanely grateful to be out of bed. 

“Poison?” They look over to Benz. “I want you to rest too. With everything that’s been going on, you haven't given your body the time to properly heal.”

They nod, feeling like they’ve been scolded. Poison’s aware that they’re weak right now, _thanks a bunch_. They don’t need Benz telling them that. It’s already painfully obvious.

“Is it okay if I look over the kid now, while I’m in here?” Benz adds, motioning towards The Girl in their lap.

She gasps and burrows closer to them, shaking her head against their chest. They know that she needs to be looked over, that Benz would never do anything to hurt her. But even so, there’s a surge of protectiveness that rises up. She’s their responsibility.

All it takes is one look over to Jet, at how tired they look even while asleep, and Poison knows that they need to let Benz help them. So, they nod and glance down to The Girl.

“Kiddo?” she shakes her head again. “He just wants ‘t make sure you’re okay.”

“ ‘m fine.”

“I know you are,” they assure her. “It’ll be over fast an’ then we can do somethin’ fun, yeah?”

“But why can’t Jet?”

Poison sighs and glances over to Jet again. They can see the dark shadows under Jet’s eyes from here, can tell by the fact that they’re sleeping through this entire conversation how much they need this rest.

“Jet’s sleepin’ honey. And I promise Benz will be extra careful.”

She looks up at them, eyes wet as she considers what they’ve said. 

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

She wiggles her arm out of her deathgrip on them to connect their pinkies. Once she’s satisfied, she slowly pries herself off of them and turns to Benz.

Ghoul hands Poison a glass while Benz asks her if anything hurts. The Girl shakes her head but then glances to Poison, like she does whenever she’s lying. Their stomach drops.

“You gotta tell ‘im what’s wrong, babygirl.”

She glances to Kobra, who nods. Poison can see the flash of concern on their brother’s face. Is the kid hurt? Has she managed to hide an injury this whole time?

Shyly, she holds her right arm out. 

“I fell.”

Benz carefully pulls up her sleeve. There’s a little bit of bruising there but there’s no swelling, no lump where a broken bone would be. 

“How long ago did you fall?” he asks her, pressing carefully on the bone around her wrist. 

“In th’ City.”

For a second Poison thinks she means when Jet and Kobra were bringing her back. If she’d fallen then, Benz was there and he should have known to check her for injuries. 

But no. She means when they were breaking her out.

Poison doesn’t remember her falling but, then again, they didn’t even see the end of the fight. The familiar, but painful, ache fills their chest at the thought. She must have gotten hurt after they’d gone down. She’s another person they failed to protect. They should have done more.

Benz hums as he thinks, turning her wrist gently. She doesn’t even wince, or show any sign that she’s in pain. Poison starts praying. 

“And it still hurts?” he asks.

“Sorta. Not a lot anymore.”

He nods and lets her retract her arm. 

“Looks like a strain. Definitely nothing broken. It’s almost healed but try and use your other arm more than it, okay?” She nods and Benz gives her a smile. “Good. Other than that I’d say you’re fine.”

Poison breathes a sigh of relief. At least she’s okay. The Witch listened. 

“P?” 

They jump, they can’t help it, when Ghoul’s hand touches their shoulder. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, quick to apologize. “You looked off an’ I was worried.”

Berating themself for scaring him like that, Poison just shrugs his hand off their shoulder. They’re fine. They didn’t even mean to jump like that, to make the others worry. 

Someone sighs but Poison doesn’t look up. They’ve ruined things again. This was a good moment, one where they were assured that The Girl was fine. 

In fact, _Poison _should be fine. Ghoul loves them, he kissed them like 10 minutes ago, everyone’s okay. So why do they keep fucking up and making everyone worry?

Is it not enough that they nearly got everyone killed? That it’s their fault everything went wrong?

An arm wraps around their shoulder, Ghoul. 

“Breathe for me, yeah? Slow. Match mine if you can.”

They hadn’t realized how fast they were breathing until Ghoul mentioned it. Poison has to fight to get theirs even close to how he’s breathing. They feel light headed and, against their will, memories start to flash in their mind.

The moments leading up to the fight inside the City. How they knew that it was a bad idea but didn’t know _how_ bad it was until they got there. Until it was too late.

“No, Poison c’mon. We can breathe together, okay?”

It works, forcing themself to breathe when Ghoul does, focusing on the weight of his arm around them and nothing else. Not The Girl’s hand on their leg, not the sound of Kobra nervously hovering behind Ghoul… not Jet’s concerned voice from across the room.

Fuck. They’ve woken them up. Jet _needed _that sleep, Poison knows they’ve been taking care of the others more so than themself. Jet deserves to rest, to not have to worry about Poison every two fucking seconds. 

They remember when they first woke up, how Jet was right beside them. How concerned they were but also so, so relieved that Poison was okay. Because that’s all Poison has done this entire fucking _time, _is worry the others. They can’t go a day without one of these-these _attacks_. Poison doesn't know what they are or what causes them, but- but it feels like suffocating.

Like-

_Poison can’t see. They can’t think._

_Bright, burning laser beams fly past their head, all around them. The smoke stings their lungs. It brings tears to their eyes with each panting breath they take. Their crew shouts around them, yelling desperately to one another. But Poison can’t understand them, their ears ringing far too loudly for anything to make sense._

_They can see The Girl, standing frozen in the center of the room. Her hands are over her ears and her face is twisted in blind panic and fear. She screams, the only sound that Poison can hear._

_A mask is in their hands. The Drac it belonged to is at their feet. It’s face is blank, eyes closed. Dead._

_The mask is heavy, weighing them down. This was a person, once. A long time ago the body at their feet had thoughts, feelings and they’ve just killed them. _

_They drop the mask like it’s on fire, eyes wide as they survey the room around them. Kobra’s the closest, just a few feet away and shooting at the endless stream of Dracs pouring into the room._

_Poison doesn’t get the chance to call to him, to make their way back over to him and see if the two of them can make a difference if they’re closer together._

_A strong hand connects with their shoulder, pushing them roughly against a wall behind them. They hit it with a thud, their head spinning from the impact. Blinking away the disorientation, they look up to find the Exterminator looming over them._

_Their gun is on the ground at their feet, knocked out of their hands when they’d hit the wall. _

_FuckFuck Fuck! _

_The Exterminator sneers at them, his pale lips pulling into a chilling smile. Cold, icy terror hits them as he presses the barrel of his blaster into their chin. Poison can’t look away, stuck in the horrible vertex of his eyes. There’s sick pleasure dancing in the pale blues of the Exterminator’s gaze and it’s paralyzing. _

_Poison hears Kobra shout and they manage to tear their gaze away from Korse to try and find their brother in the chaos around them. He’s running towards them, shouting still as Dracs close in on him and block him from getting to them. _

_The blaster presses harder into the soft part of their chin, making them dart their eyes back to Korse. He’s smiling still, watching Poison as if this is the greatest moment of his life._

_It hits them then. The realization that this is it. The end._

_But the moment they found The Girl, pulled her into their arms and held her so tightly… from that moment they knew they weren’t getting out of this one. It was a suicide mission, after all. They just hadn’t allowed themself to think of it that way until she was back in their arms. _

_Korse tilts his head, the smile never leaving his face. Poison doesn’t avert their gaze, doesn’t look to their brother or the kid. They hold his stare._

_They will not let him have this, will not show him how utterly terrified they are._

_If they can’t do anything else, they will not show fear._

_Korse pulls the trigger and the blinding, hot pain tears through them. It’s pure agony, the worst pain Poison has ever felt. But only for a moment. They're swallowed by the inky blackness within seconds, slumping against the wall._

Then it changes…. Something older, something almost forgotten.

_White masks looming over them. Needles jabbing into their arms, the pricking pain that ebbed away as the cool drugs rushed through their system. The bite of restraints on their wrists and feet, tearing at their skin as they tried to break free. Their throat feeling torn to shreds as they screamed, screamed and thrashed and begged. _

_And then… nothing. A murky memory of their brother in their room. Shaking their shoulders, begging them to talk to him._

_The image of a pill bottle, too big for them to hold in one hand. The rattle of the tablets inside. How a part of them, buried deep underneath the haze, wanted to see what would happen if they took them all._

_Stronger images. Brighter ones. _

_Laying on their bed, too weak to move. Sweat pouring off of them as they hoarsely begged their brother for his pills, their pills, anything. _

_That first, clear thought that they had. Their head was too mulled to think properly but Poison remembers that first step into the desert. How the sky seemed so huge and how free they felt. It was a moment of clarity, a moment of understanding and payoff for the endless hours of withdrawal they’ve been through. Are still going through._

____________________________________

When Poison comes to, it’s more like pulling yourself out of a day dream. Their face is sticky with tears and the room is silent. With shaking arms, they sit up. Someone hurries to help them, steadying them and pressing a glass to their lips.

“Easy,” Kobra’s voice soothes beside them. “Slowly.”

They must have passed out. _Again_.

This is the second time in like a day that one of their panic attack- flashback _things,_ have been so bad that they’ve passed out from it. It pisses them off but it also just hurts. The fact that they’re so messed up that something so small could leave this kind of effect on them. How their head hurts from crying they don’t remember doing, how their hands shake as they try to hold the glass of water. It makes them feel small, helpless. And they hate it but it’s like they already know there’s nothing they can do to fix this. To fix them.

They’re still thirsty when Kobra pulls the water away. Poison’s head swims but they manage to open their eyes.

Concerned, tired faces. That’s all they see.

Ghoul’s slouched in a chair, his head in his hands like it’s been buried there for a while. But he’s looking at them, fear dancing in his eyes.

The Girl’s at his feet, robot clutched tightly against her chest. Her face is red, like she’s been crying. She brightens a little when they manage to meet her eyes.

Kobra lets them lean on his shoulder and they can feel how tense he is, how scared. 

They were fine…. Up until they weren’t. And then they just couldn’t stop or hardly even _think_. Some of the things they’d seen… they didn’t even know they remembered.

“What _was_ that?” Poison barely manages to whisper.

Their throat burns and Kobra gives them some more of the water.

“Do you want the long version or the short?” Jet asks from somewhere behind Kobra.

They sound exhausted and Poison just shrugs. An explanation of any kind would be nice.

Jet comes into their line of sight and sits down at the foot of the bed. They let their hand rest on Poison’s leg overtop of the covers. It’s grounding and they do their best to focus on it. To not let themself slip under again.

“Benz knew some stuff about what’s goin’ on with you. Said he’s seen it b’fore. Basically, you went through trauma and you didn’t know how to cope. This,” Jet waves their hand, “the panicking fits and the flashbacks, that’s your mind trying to figure out what to do.”

“But… but why _now_? The shit ‘m seein’,” Poison shakes their head at the sour taste that forms in their mouth at the memory of those labs. “That shit’s old.”

“Best guess, the fight in th’ City was enough to drag the old stuff up too.”

So they’re broken, that’s what Jet is trying to say. They’ve had a fucked up childhood, a fucked up _life_, and now they can’t even function. Poison’s just going to keep getting worse, the memories or flashbacks or _whatever_ are going to get worse. Until Poison won’t be able to tell what’s now and what’s then. 

Already, when they’re in the moment, the past feels so real. 

They could feel everything, could smell the antiseptic of the hospital and the smoke of the fight. 

Poison takes a slow, shaky breath, pushing down the panic that’s growing just from the thought. 

Kobra rubs their shoulder comfortingly.

“There’s a name for what you’re goin’ through,” Jet continues softly, nothing but calm reassurance in their voice. The shadows under their eyes tell a different story. “But the important part is that we can help you. We can stop this before it gets worse and help you ‘t get better.”

That sounds too good to be true. To just go back to normal after this. After everything.

“And you don’t have to,” Jet starts, “ but Benz said talking about what happened might help. Getting it out in th’ open so that we know how to help you. What might trigger th’ panics and how to prevent them, or just work through them easier.”

“But you don’t have to,” Kobra insists, fretting over the blanket in their lap nervously. “Only if it doesn’t make things worse.”

The thought of telling the others everything…

Not even _Kobra _knows everything. But if there’s a chance coming clean would make this go away, make them be able to _function_ without freaking out over everything, then maybe they should tell them?

They already feel like shit for never telling Kobra, their own _brother_. He saved their life, their _soul_. If they’d stayed just a little longer Poison wouldn’t be here right now. They wouldn’t know that _party poison_ red was their favorite color. They wouldn’t know the feeling of a song’s beat vibrating through them. Wouldn’t know how it feels to be in love. To have someone who loves them back. To have a family. 

They take a deep breath before turning to Kobra, their decision made.

“Let me up?”

He looks confused but lets them stand up. There’s a lot on their mind and they need to be doing something if they’re going to be telling this story. They can’t just sit there. That’s all they’ve been doing, sitting around and panicking.

And they don’t want to panic right now. They want to do this right. 

The panic lingers though, on the edge of their mind. Reminding them of what they’re about to say. Poison honestly won’t blame the others if they hate them after this. After they find out the truth.

They start pacing, they can’t help it. Their hands shake and they know that if they just _start_, the rest of the words will start flowing. But they can’t. They’ve held onto this for so long, kept it a secret from everyone. Even from themself. 

But they have to. The others deserve to know. To know why Poison’s been such a pain in the ass recently, why they’ve been so difficult to deal with.

“In the City,” Poison says quickly, not giving themself the chance to talk themself out of it. “In the City I wasn’t… I wasn’t normal.”

Jet makes eye contact and nods encouragingly. Poison does a few more laps around the room, twisting their hands until they can form the next words.

“I flew under th’ radar for a while. When it was just me ‘n Kobes. But they found out, the government found out. Somehow. I never actually… I never questioned anything. Not really. Not enough to want to escape. But I thought it was dumb that Kobra had to have his hair long and that people didn’t… I dunno, that people didn’t seem to feel things like I did.”

When they glance over to Kobra, his mouth is drawn in a hard line and he’s balling his fists into the sheets. They wonder if he remembers that. If he remembers what they were like before. 

“But then I got found out. I don’t remember how or why. Just that I was home one day, helping Kobra with his homework, and the next I was there.”

“There?” Jet asks when Poison doesn’t keep talking after a few more laps. 

The Girl’s staring at them too. But they know she doesn’t understand, not really. She’s too young and they’re thankful this is going over her head.

“The labs. The meds I was on weren’t working. It’s why I could feel and think a little more freely. Better Living didn’t like that.”

Images of people in masks, leaning over them and telling them that it wouldn’t hurt at all. The so cold it was almost painful rush as the drugs entered their body. Poison hates how they crave that feeling sometimes. That icy numbness. 

They hated it, every single second of being in those labs. Poison had been able to feel themself slipping, being drowned out by whatever it was the doctors were pumping them full off. 

“So they tried something different. I was… too much of a liability I guess, to be a regular citizen. I was too stubborn. The never told me what they were doing but when I was being wheeled in I- I saw the sign outside of the wing they took me into.”

Kobra finishes their train of thought. “S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.”

He looks up at them, face heavy and eyes sad. Like it’s his fault. Like he’s the one that’s done something wrong.

“Yeah, I- god Kobes I dunno why I kept that from you. From all of you. I just…. I know that that changes everything. Because I was _one_ of them. I was almost one of those soulless fucks that we kill on a daily basis. And I didn’t tell you. You have every right to hate me and-”

“Why would we hate you?’

Poison spins around to look at The Girl. She’s watching them carefully, her eyes narrowed. But it's not anger or hate on her face, no. It’s confusion and _love_, of all things. 

“Well I- I was nearly one of the ‘crows… I-”

“And I know for a fact that you fought them. Fought against what they were doing to you,” Ghoul interrupts roughly, standing up and gripping Poison’s arms to keep them from pacing anymore. For once, they don’t want to pull away. It’s like he’s tethering them to the now, to this room. Keeping them from being dragged back to those labs.

“How?” 

Because _they_ barely remember. They fought back, yeah. But not hard enough. They should have fought harder. They still lost months of their life because Better Living won. The pills worked and Poison got addicted. They were almost at the end of the conditioning when Kobra threw out their pills. They were _days_ away from becoming nothing. From becoming a ‘crow. One of the heartless bastards that Poison has now killed hundreds of. 

“Because earlier, when you were in your flashback, you were fighting them. From what Benz said, what you were seeing was what actually _happened_. And you fought back hard. P… you were screaming and pulling on restraints that weren’t even there. If you fought back even _half_ as hard then I know for a _fact _that you were not in that program willingly.”

They have to blink away the tears making their vision swim. There’s faint scars on their arms and legs from when they were in the labs, faded by the years and overshadowed by the thousands of others they’ve gotten from living like they do. Ghoul asked them about them once. Just curious. They hadn’t known what to say. So they’d said they didn’t remember. Another lie.

Poison can feel that helpless panic in their chest, the terror at the thought of what the doctors were going to do to them. They’re shaking with it and Ghoul pulls them into a hug before they even get the chance to ask for one.

The panic subsides slowly and they rest against Ghoul for a long moment as they gather their strength to continue. Poison isn’t sure if they can keep going with telling this story but thankfully, Kobra speaks up.

“When Poison got back from th’ labs… they were gone. Like, Drac levels of just _gone_. They barely made a sound. I was- I was lost for a while, without them. But when I found their pills, when I sorta realized what was happening, I flipped. I poured all of their meds out. Made ‘em go cold turkey.”

Poison hears Jet curse under their breath and they shiver a little at the memory. Withdraws weren’t fun, to put it lightly.

“Oh _shit_.”

Everyone turns towards the new voice. 

Phantom stands halfway in the doorway, his eyes wide and face pale with what he’s just heard.

“I’m sorry. I was just-” he shakes his head. “I told Benz I’d check up on you guys. I knocked but I… I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“How much did you hear?” Kobra demands, something dangerous flirting around the edges of his tone.

Phantom opens the door completely and steps inside. He looks guilty, at least. Like he didn’t mean to overhear. There’s no hate or disgust that Poison can see, like they half expected everyone to have when this finally came out.

“All of it.”

Kobra fumes and stands up, clearly shifting into over-protective mode. But Jet beats him to it, somehow crossing the room in time to block Kobra’s view of Phantom.

“Hey,” Jet says calmly. “ He didn’t mean to.”

“But now he _knows_.”

Which, Kobra has a point. Poison’s barely coping with the fact that the rest of their crew knows, and now one of the Youngbloods does? The thought alone makes their chest hurt.

“I already did.”

Once again, everyone turns back to Phantom. 

“Explain. _Now_.”

Jet never gets that tone. They’re normally the one calming them all down, the best at making sure they’re okay and taking care of them when they’re not. Poison’s rarely seen this side of Jet. The anger and the strength that they always know is there, but is normally put towards other things.

Phantom shrinks under Jet’s glare.

“I mean I- I sorta knew.”

Jet squints and motions for Phantom to keep talking. Poison stumbles over to the bed and sits back down, exhausted already.

“Before I was in the Youngbloods, I was in the City,” Phantom begins slowly, as if he’s waiting on one of them to go off on him. “I wasn’t very high up, but I worked in labs like that. I don’t remember much but, towards the end, I still went to work when I was off the pills. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You _stayed_?” Jet demands lowly.

They have a point. How the hell could Phantom keep going to work _after_ stopping the pills? Didn’t he _know_ what those labs were doing? 

What they were doing to people like Poison? And he stayed, _willingly_?

Phantom winces. “Yes. I hated every second of it, of knowing what went on in those rooms. But I was just a guard. All I did was ask for badges. I wasn’t important but if I left, I’d be missed. I didn’t think I could get out.”

Something in Poison’s heart breaks at that. It’s enough for them to hear Phantom out. Even if the thought of him working _for_ the people who did this to them is enough to make their skin crawl.

“In that last month I was there, shortly before I met Benz and the others, I was given the job to guard a high clearance patient. Someone only the top doctors could even see.” He looks over to Poison, a deep sadness etched across his face, and it clicks. 

“Me,” they whisper.

Kobra snaps his head in Phantom’s direction and Jet looks like they’re about two seconds from being sick. When Poison risks a glance over to Ghoul, he’s holding The Girl’s hand. He offers them a smile. 

“Yeah. You’re different now, a lot different,” Phantom chuckles a bit at that but Poison can’t bring themself to even smile. “But I recognize you now. I only saw you when they were wheelin’ you in and out but… but earlier, when you weren’t sure if you fought back or not? I can promise you that you did. You made every doctor in there’s life a living _hell_. They had to keep you knocked out because you literally put one doctor in intensive care. No one wanted to be assigned to you.”

They don’t know what to do with that information, with what he’s told them.

But they don’t remember Phantom. Or anyone close to him. 

There’s faces of the doctors, the white lights… the one person who smiled at them. Some lady by the door.

“I left before you did,” Phantom continues, eyes down. “But… I’ve regretted not bringing you with me ever since. I knew you were special. The doctors knew it too.”

“It’s okay,” Poison finds themself saying. 

It’s the truth though. They did end up getting out, thanks to Kobra. He’d saved them. But they can’t blame Phantom for acting in self preservation. It wasn’t his fault Poison was there in the first place.

Phantom gives them a relieved smile, like they’ve taken a weight off of his shoulders. Like he’s held onto this just as long as they have.

“A few things make more sense now. I should have put two and two together sooner.”

“What ‘d you mean?” Poison questions.

They catch Ghoul playing with The Girl’s hair out of the corner of their eye. Keeping her calm. Poison sorta wants to go over and scoop her up. She’s always so good at giving hugs when they need one. 

As if reading their mind, Jet sits down beside them. They sort of lean on one another, heads touching and hands connected. They soak in Jet’s presence, their strength. Poison hopes that they help Jet half as much as they do them. 

“Well. Korse, specifically. I get it now,” Phantom says with a shake of his head.

“What does Korse have t’ do with any of this?”

Phantom frowns, like they’ve asked something obvious. 

“He was the one in charge of your re-education.”

If Poison had been standing, they’re certain they’d fallen over.

“_What_?”

Jet goes stiff against them. 

Korse has always had it out for them. He started focusing on their crew shortly after they got the kid. Poison always thought it was because of her. Because she’s so young, because she’s a desert born.

“You’re _certain_?” Jet demands, almost desperate.

“Yeah. He came in every day to check on them. Check the progress.” Phantom turns to Poison. “If you and Kobra escaped, ruining all of Korse’s hard work, then it’d make sense how he’s always after you guys. I thought- I thought you guys knew this?”

It feels like they’ve been punched in the face. 

“Wait,” Kobra speaks up, looking at Jet desperately. “Jet, remember what Cherri said?”

Poison watches Jet’s eyes go wide, as they go white as a sheet and start to curse under their breath.

“What’d Cherri say?” Poison insists, trying in vain to get Kobra to meet their eyes.

What aren’t the others telling them?

“He ‘n Doc had a hunch,” Jet mumbles, defeated. “Korse is one ‘a the best Exterminators th’ City’s ever made. They didn’t think it was right that he…. That he missed when he shot you.”

Poison looks down at their hands, at the way Kobra and Jet are both holding on so tightly. How Ghoul’s holding the kid just as tight.

In the moment, Poison had been certain that Korse was going to kill them. Why wouldn’t he? He had them right where he wanted them. 

They’d been frozen, completely unable to move. It was the perfect shot. They should have died instantly… but they didn’t. The laser missed their brain.

Because Korse wasn’t _trying _to kill them. He was trying to incapacitate them so he could drag them back to the labs. Finish the job that he started. Turn them into nothing. Into no one.

Poison feels like they’re about to puke.

Judging by the shocked silence hanging heavy in the room, everyone else has come to the same conclusion. 

Kobra’s grip on their hand is so tight that it hurts and they can see the tears that he’s fighting off. They lean against Jet, both of them. Jet’s still frozen, distant like they’re replaying what happened in their head over and over.

If Korse had truly wanted them dead, they would be. Poison wouldn’t be here right now if Korse didn’t have an ulterior motive. They don’t know what to do with that realization. With what it means.

“ ‘s that why none of us died?” Ghoul questions in a hoarse voice. 

The Girl is quiet, watching. Poison recognizes that look in her eyes, knows it means that she understands. Even so, even with the pain so clear on her face, they’re glad she’s here for this conversation. As selfish as that thought is.

“He must ‘av wanted all of us,” Jet answers softly.

“But he didn’t get you.”

They all look up to Phantom in unison. Poison bets they look pretty pathetic right now. The desert’s most well known killjoys, huddling together like scared kids. Shaking like the big bad guy is hiding under the bed and might pop out at any time. 

“You guys outsmarted him,” Phantom insists. “He thought he was winning. He never even noticed the bombs until it was too late. Even if we never found you guys, Korse wouldn’t have gotten you.”

Poison doesn’t add in the fact that they’d be dead if the Youngbloods hadn't found them. But they did find them. They saved their lives, made it so they could keep living _and_ the City wouldn’t get them.

Something familiar begins to bubble up in Poison’s chest. Burning through them and igniting off of the panic, the fear that’s left in their system. Rage.

Korse would have put their crew through what they went through. He would have made them into nothing. A fate worse than death. And Poison’s skin burns with the realization of how close he got. 

Korse is going to pay. They’re not sure how, or when. But he’s going to pay for making Poison’s life hell. For the labs and for terrorizing their crew. For trying to take away their family.

________________________________

Two days later and Jet is still trying to wrap his head around everything he’s just learned.

He already knew about Poison being drafted into the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W program, that Kobra was the one who got them out just in time. But the other stuff. The fact that it was _Korse_ who put them in there in the first place. That Phantom had been there, had seen the things the City was doing to Poison. That’s what Jet is finding hard to make sense of.

He doesn’t blame Phantom, not really. If roles were reversed, Jet’s not sure if he’d been able to do anything either. What they’ve learned about Korse, on the other hand, is a different story.

Jet doesn’t hate easily. It’s not in him to want to take someone’s life or cause them pain. But right now, even after he’s mostly calmed down, he wants to shove his blaster down Korse’s throat and pull the trigger. He isn’t sure if he’d regret it later on but it’s what the Exterminator deserves. Actually, he deserves _worse_. To suffer like Poison had. But Jet knows he wouldn’t be able to draw it out, to actually make Korse suffer like he wants. 

He saw that same spark of anger in Poison earlier. 

They’ve always hated Korse, what he stands for. It’s a game of theirs to taunt him, to annoy the ever loving fuck out of the Exterminator. To make his life miserable. And while Poison has given Korse quite a few near-deadly blows, it’s never been malicious. There’s never been a part in any of them that’s enjoyed having to hurt and take lives. They all fight because they have to, because if they don’t they’ll die. 

But, truthfully? Jet would be okay with killing Korse. He wouldn’t regret it. Not for a second. Maybe that makes him a bad person, maybe he should be concerned by what that means. But he’s not. 

“Jet,” The Girl whines, pressing her head back into his hands so he gets the message. 

He apologizes under his breath and goes back to lathering the shampoo through her hair. She always complains about taking a bath but once Jet gets her in one, it’s almost impossible to get her out. He feels bad for zoning out around her because he knows that she’s worried. Even as young as she is, she understands that things are different. It’s impossible to keep everything about their lives from her, but he always feels bad when she has to see more than she should. 

Jet shakes his head and returns his focus back to the task at hand. Once he’s happy with the amount of suds in her hair, he cups his hand over her eyes and begins using the showerhead to wash it out. She giggles at the water tickling her and splashes happily. A warm feeling replaces the anger that was filling him just a second ago. Jet’s reminded, once again, how much he loves this kid. How lucky they are to have her in their lives.

After all of the soap is gone- and none gets in her eyes, thankfully- Jet gets to work on the conditioner. There’s a rather large bottle that was sitting on the edge of the tub and he squirts a generous amount into his hands. If he remembers correctly, the last bath The Girl had was almost a month ago. If Cherri and Doc didn’t give her one, that is. He’s already had to change the bath water once, after he’d scrubbed her down, just from how much dirt and grime was on her. But now there’s little bubbles floating around because of the shampoo. She won’t stay clean for long but that’s kinda the point, Jet guesses. Cleaning her up so she can make another mess. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

As Jet works the conditioner through her hair, a sense of peace washes over him. This is something he never thought he would have. Knees aching from leaning on the floor as he gives the kid a bath. Suds soaking his shirt and hands wrinkled from being in the water so long. But there’s a smile on his face that only faltered when he’d gotten lost in his own head. Though, The Girl is always quick to pull him back. She’s singing something under her breath, one of the songs that Cherri must have let her listen to when Jet was patching Kobra up the other day.

“Now you gotta soak kiddo,” he says once her hair is plastered down by the thick conditioner.

She nods but keeps passing her hand through little piles of bubbles on the surface of the water. 

Leaning back until he can stretch his legs out, Jet lets out a slow breath.

Part of him wants to go to Kobra. Hearing Poison’s story, all of it, has impacted all of them. 

It might be selfish but Jet just wants to steal Kobra away for a minute. To bury his face in his shoulder and remind himself that Korse didn’t get what he wanted. Even if he was close to locking them in those labs, he didn’t win. They were smarter than him.

But Kobra’s changing clothes in the room he shares with Jet. He’d almost invited Kobra to help him bathe the kid but the tension on his face told Jet that he needed to be alone. He would come to Jet if he needed him. But what if Jet needs _him_?

He shakes his head and focuses back on The Girl.

She’s splashing for real now, soaking the floor even more. Jet drags himself up, ignoring the dull twinge in his chest, and gathers a few extra towels. He saves two for the kid and sets them on the counter.

“Alright, time ‘t get out.”

“But _Jet_,” she whines, throwing her head back dramatically.

She learned that from Poison and Jet makes a mental note to call Poison a drama queen sometime soon. It’s been too long since he’s told them that. 

“No buts. If you get out now we can get something sweet after dinner.”

Water sloshes as she stands quickly, all but jumping into Jet’s arms. He barely has time to wrap a towel around her. She’s shivering though, so he knows it was time for her to get out. 

He gets her dried quickly and they’re back in Poison’s room in record time. 

Kobra’s still in the other room and Ghoul is… somewhere. Jet does a once over of the room but fails to spot him. Shouldn’t Ghoul be like- attached to Poison’s side, all things considering?

“Ghoul went down ‘t th’ cafeteria with Benz. He wanted to check on his memories or somethin’, since they’re comin’ back, and Ghoul was hungry,” Poison informs him from the bed.

They’re laying sideways on the bed, feet dangling over the side facing Jet. He can see the scarring on their chin from this angle, how they try to hide it by keeping their head down. But they look calm, especially when compared to earlier, so Jet just hums and helps The Girl into her clothes.

When she’s dressed, she runs over and jumps onto the bed beside Poison. They flinch, ever so slightly, but are quick to tickle her the second she’s close enough.

She squeals and squirms away. Poison grins and sits up on their elbows, chasing her as she wiggles. They’re laughing too by the time she gets far enough away for them to raise their hands in surrender.

“_Meanie_,” The Girl says, sticking her tongue out at Poison.

Jet laughs to himself at how childish Poison’s being. But it’s good to see them like this. This at ease.

“_I’m_ a meanie?” they ask dramatically, laying a hand over their heart like they’re offended.

What was that Jet was saying about Poison being a drama queen?

Jet mumbles as such under his breath, though the other two in the room don’t seem to hear him. That’s alright though, Kobra returns just a moment later. He’s in a simple t-shirt and jeans, yet Jet feels his heart stutter in his chest. The beanie is pulled down so that it almost covers his ears, hiding all of the blond in his hair. His eyes are bright as he takes in Poison and The Girl’s playful bickering. But Jet can’t get over how good Kobra looks, how happy he looks.

“Jet! Stop makin’ heart eyes at my brother and help me wrangle this little gremlin!” Poison shouts, already pretending to try and catch the kid as she runs around the room.

Kobra rolls his eyes but there’s a blush forming on his cheeks when he steps in front of The Girl on her next pass around the room. She giggles and tries to get out of his hold, but Kobra’s a lot stronger than she is. Jet takes this opportunity to get a tickle of his own in. Just barely brushing his fingers over her neck is enough for her to jerk and laugh even louder.

She wiggles out of Kobra’s hold and spends a long moment just laughing and catching her breath on the floor. Kobra plops down beside her, legs crossed and a smile on his face.

“Missed ya motorbaby.”

“I missed you guys too,” she tells them seriously right as her stomach grumbles.

“Hungry?” Kobra asks, raising an eyebrow with a knowing smirk.

The Girl nods eagerly and lets Kobra pull her up.

“You guys comin’ too?” 

Poison’s smile drops and their face falls ever so slightly. 

“Uh, we’ll follow. I wanted ‘t talk to Jet for a bit.”

Kobra doesn’t question his sibling, he just helps the kid into her shoes and kisses Jet on his way out the door.

Once they’re alone, Poison- who’s made no move to get off the floor- lets out a slow breath and leans their head against the edge of the bed. They’re winded and Jet can see now that they were hiding how much playing with the kid took out of them.

“You don’t gotta pretend,” Jet says without thinking.

Poison glances up at him, like they know exactly what he means but are going to continue to do it anyway.

“I could say th’ same for you.”

Jet’s taken back by that. What on earth is he pretending about?

“Jet,” Poison drawls, exasperatedly. “I saw you earlier, when you were sleepin’. When’s the last time you actually slept or took a break?”

Well, that’s easy. He napped like a day ago and he slept at Doc’s before that because Pony didn’t wake him for a shift. 

“I-”

“_Actual_ sleep, Jet. You know I love you but you look like shit.”

He can’t help the self deprecating laugh that comes from hearing Poison say that, nevermind the irony of it. Yeah, he knows he looks like shit. It’s not news to him. 

“_Thanks_, love you too.”

Poison sighs, like they do whenever they’re trying to say something but are struggling to figure out how. 

“No- Jet. I mean, seriously, are you okay?”

He recognizes it now, the concern in their eyes. Jet wants to shrug them off, tell them that of course he’s fine. He’s not the one with “debilitating PTSD” or a recovering amnesiac. He’s not got a head injury that he could put this on.

He might be a little worse for wear but he’s dealing. Poison shouldn’t be worried over him.

“I’m fine. I think we’re all run down s’all.”

Poison brings their knee up to their chest, draping their arm over it and giving him the most disbelieving look he’s ever seen. It feels like one of the stares he uses on the others when they’re being stubborn and won’t tell him what’s wrong. Oh. 

“Jet… you don’t gotta tell me,” Poison starts slowly, like they’re talking to a scared animal. “But tellin’ ya’ll about all the shit in _my_ head did help. A little. But it did and I don’t like seein’ you so torn up over somethin’.”

Well, you see, the problem is that Jet isn’t sure what’s wrong exactly. Maybe it’s just residual stress or whatever. They _have _been through a lot recently. Or, maybe it’s just that there’s not anything he can do to help the others right now, not really. He can’t magically help Poison start to recover from everything they’ve been through. He can’t wave his hand and make Kobra’s head stop hurting. He can’t even jog Ghoul’s memory, with or without said magic. 

All Jet can do is sit here and try and offer the others company, a friendly face or a shoulder to cry on. He’s not supposed to be worrying them _more_, adding more stress onto their backs. Especially not Poison. 

“I just wish there was more I could do t’ help,” is what he settles on.

His voice sounds strange, even to himself. Like it’s hollow, tired. 

“But you do help,” Poison insists, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dude you help so fuckin’ much, you have no idea.”

A small, grateful feeling blooms just from hearing them say that. That Jet has done at least something to help the others. 

“Wish there was more I could do,” Jet murmurs, staring down at his still soaking clothes dejectedly.

“_More_? Jet-” There’s a scramble as Poison stands and comes over to him. “Jet what more could you possibly _do_ for us?”

He just shrugs. Poison studies him, searching for some clue that not even Jet knows is there or not. They put their hands on his shoulders, almost like they’re about to shake some sense into him.

“_Star_, why do you always gotta act like you need to prove your worth or some shit?”

It’s teasing, even with the use of his last name. But it feels like a match dropped into a trail of gasoline. 

Because that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Proving that he’s useful so the others won’t get sick of him? 

His eyes fall and he knows Poison’s aware they caught the nail on the head.

“Jet, why would you think like that? We love you, like-” they shake their head and pull him against them in one motion, capturing him in a hug with more strength than they should possess. “God Jet we’d be fuckin’ _lost _without you.”

He can only cling to them, blink back the tears threatening to fall. He won’t do this here, he won’t break down. 

It’s frustrating, because he knows that the others do love him, that they want him around for more than his usefulness. But there’s always that little line of doubt poking its head up and whispering that if he doesn’t keep them safe, he’ll lose them. And Jet can’t go through that again. He won’t. He _can’t_. 

Poison lets him go when he backs up but he can tell that they’re reluctant to do so. But he’s torn between telling them what’s wrong- because they're _right_. Poison came clean with them earlier about things he knows for a fact they’ve never spoken out loud- and just pushing this shit down like always.

He’s made it this long without telling anyone, without ever mentioning their names or that they existed at all. And yet, Jet knows Poison would never think differently of him for something like this. They’re close enough to be siblings, blood related or not, and they’ve already told each other so much. What’s one more thing?

And, honestly, maybe Jet’s tired of seeing long gone faces in his dreams. Longing for the company of people he lost years ago. Telling Poison won’t fix what happened, won’t bring them back. Hell, it might even make Jet feel worse. But, it’s worth a shot. And he owes Poison this much honesty, at least.

“It’s just-” he has to stop, clear his throat and try again. The words feel like they’re trying to suffocate him as he forces them out. “It’s just that I never thought I’d have somethin’ like this again.”

Poison’s face softens, in that open sort of way so few people ever get to see. He knows he could tell them anything right now, that it’s safe. But it doesn’t make this any easier. Not that he expected it would.

“It was b’fore I met you an’ Kobra. It was… my mom’s crew. After she was gone I sorta… took her role I guess. Mechanic, medic, whatever was needed. We were a big crew but we flew under th’ radar.” Jet lets out a shaky breath at what comes next. “But there was a clap. It- there were too many of them. One ‘a th’ older men told me t’ hide. I was… I was like 11. I’d been in fights b’fore. But this one terrified me, like I already knew what was gonna happen. So, I hid. Under one ‘a th’ cars.”

He has to stop now, choked on the weight of it. He scrubs angrily at his eyes, pissed that he can still cry over this after all this time. You would think he’d have run out of tears by now. 

“Jet…”

“I knew how t’ fight,” Jet defends, hating the pity hanging off of Poison’s voice. “I knew how t’ fight. I’d killed a Drac by then. I _knew _how. I knew how-”

Poison pulls him in again and that’s all it takes. Jet can’t hold back the sobs building in his throat this time, can’t pry his fingers out of Poison’s shirt to save his life. 

Because even when he did _everything_ in his power to keep the people he cares about safe, he fucked up anyway. He can feel how tiny Poison is right now, even though they’re the one holding him up. He can feel how they’re shaking. Can still hear the way they’re screamed the other day, caught in the past.

He can feel the weight of Kobra in his arms as he carried him back to the AM after the fight. How his blood was soaking into Jet’s clothes and how even though he did the best he could, Kobra was in pain _because _of him.

How he knows Ghoul’s clinging to Poison for more reasons than one right now. Ghoul’s been alone before, just like Jet. That loneliness always whispers to you, telling you to appreciate the people around you now because it can’t- it _won’t _last forever. 

“Jet,” Poison whispers, in that desperate sort of way. “You were a _kid_. It was a firefight. Of course you took cover. I don’t blame you for that, no one should blame you for that. ‘Specially ‘cause you were _told_ to get somewhere safe.” Jet knows that, he’s told himself that hundreds of times over the years. But it’s never had the impact it does now, hearing it from someone else. Someone who understands what carrying that sort of guilt feels like. 

Because he knows that Poison understands, he’s fought for years to make sure they don’t feel at fault for every little thing that goes wrong. They probably understand how he feels more than anyone, knows that ache in his chest. That fear of not being enough again, of letting something go wrong. 

Jet nods, it’s all he can do, and lets out a long, slow breath. The worst of it has passed and while he knows this fixed nothing, changed nothing, he can’t deny that it helped. Poison’s fixed something in him, helped by barely doing anything.

When he pulls away, Poison's eyes are wet too. They both laugh a little at themselves, at the fact that they just went through whatever that was. What a pair the two of them must make.

Jet wipes his eyes, wincing at the sting of sensitive skin.

“C’mon. Let me clean you up for once Star.”

Poison’s voice is softer than normal and the way they say his last name- something so rare- it’s comforting, in a weird, _I just cried my eyes out in front of you_ sort of way. But it’s not unpleasant. 

So Jet nods and lets Poison drag him into the bathroom. 

Yeah, his head might still be stuffy from crying and his chest will ache occasionally to remind him how close he got to being ghosted, but Jet honestly feels better than he has in a long time. He feels closer to the others, if that was at all possible. As cheesy and stupid as it sounds, they’ve grown up a bit. He even lets Poison sit him down in the bathroom and worry over him, for once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, everyone, thoughts?


	20. Epilogue

“Dude you _gotta _sit still,” Jet groans as Ghoul shifts in the chair yet again, causing him to lose the hold he has on a strand of partially braided hair.

“Sorry.”

Ghoul at least _sounds_ apologetic and he does sit still, but Jet makes sure to keep a tight hold on the braid this time. He’s almost done but Ghoul’s nearing the end of the amount of time he’s able to sit still. (Which isn't that long to begin with, especially now that he's feeling better.)

“You’re th’ one who wanted it so least you can do ‘s not move around,” Jet warns as his fingers move nimbly in Ghoul’s hair.

Ghoul’s is always the most fun to braid, Jet thinks. Just because of how well his hair holds the braids. The Girl’s is fun too, though it’s even more difficult to get _her_ to sit still long enough.

“ ‘m sorry,” Ghoul says again, sounding a bit more apologetic. “ ‘jus excited ‘t see what Poison’ll think.”

Jet smiles at that, even though Ghoul can’t see him do so. The past few days have been rough, but it’s always a relief to see Ghoul going out of his way to try and help Poison. 

They’re doing better. At least, Jet didn’t hear them screaming in their sleep last night so he's counting it as a good sign. And Kobra’s managing to get them to eat when the rest of them do. The Girl’s keeping them entertained. Jet’s always there to listen to whatever’s on their mind. And Ghoul has made it his personal mission to not only shower Poison in love, but to make them smile as often as he can too.

Things aren’t perfect. Sometimes, when they don’t think the others are looking, Poison will let the walls down a bit further. Showing Jet, or whoever happens to look their way, how fragile this new growth is. 

But progress _is_ being made and Poison is recovering. Thank the Witch.

Jet’s next project is to get The Girl to sleep on her own. She always has to have someone in the room with her and if that person leaves, she wakes up instantly. Jet gets it, he does, but he also wants her to feel safe enough to sleep on her own. 

“Can I braid yours next?” Ghoul asks, oblivious to Jet’s drifting thoughts.

“Yeah, no.”

There’s no way in _hell_ he’s letting Ghoul anywhere near his hair. Not after the last time. (Jet does not look good with a shaved head, fyi)

“C’mon,” Ghoul whines, probably knowing full well he’s being a little shit. “I’ll never learn how if you don’t show me.”

Jet sighs and tightens the braid a bit more forcefully than necessary. Ghoul squirms but doesn’t press.

“Next time,” Jet amends after he feels Ghoul’s been scolded long enough. “I’ll let you practice on your own. It’s getting long enough.”

He doesn’t even have to be facing Ghoul to know that he’s beaming. The quick little taptaptap of his foot on the floor is a dead giveaway.

Jet smiles to himself and slides the elastic band off of his wrist and ties the end of Ghoul’s braid. He then twists it and tucks it under where he stared, making a seemingly infinite crown around Ghoul’s head. It’s one of his better jobs, if he does say so himself. Even with one eye.

“Alright, you’re free.”

Ghoul jumps up and spins around. Jet barely has a second to react before Ghoul flings his arms around his shoulders. Hugging Ghoul feels like coming home, like someone covering you with a blanket when you’re dozing. Warm.

“Thanks Jet,” Ghoul says into his hair, soft and genuine despite his excitement.

Jet does not cry, he doesn’t. If he’s wiping his eyes as Ghoul stands back up and bounds off to go find Poison, it’s just because of the dust. The Underground _is_ underground after all. There’s a lot of dust.

_________________________________________________________________

Kobra finishes tying The Girl’s shoe and taps her knee as he stands back up. She grins and jumps off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” 

“Yep!” she tells him excitedly, already pulling his arm and dragging him towards the door.

He had promised her a proper walk around the Underground days ago but today's the first day he’s actually had the opportunity to take her. Between watching over Poison to make sure they don’t have anymore of those flashbacks so strong they pass out, and a couple of important conversations with Jet, Kobra’s been busy. 

“What’d you wanna see first?” he asks once the door to his and Jet’s room is closed.

The hallway is mostly empty but he knows someone will be by shortly to clean up. It’s still weird to think that someone is going to be in his room, straightening up his things. But Sandman has assured them that the people who clean the rooms are trustworthy and that they would never snoop or steal anything. Even so, or perhaps just out of habit, Kobra has his blaster on him.

He can’t wear his jacket, for fear of being discovered being Not Dead. But just knowing the gun is on him just makes him feel better. He even managed to track down the clothes he had on during the fight and is currently wearing them. Kobra never thought he’d miss a yellow and black tank top as much as he did.

Even the kid is wearing things that are more her style. She has bright orange leggings, with a hole in the knee, and a faded denim jacket. They already have plans to fix up the plain white sneakers she has. 

Kobra just has to find the paint and then the three of them- him, the kid, and Poison- are going to have a field day. He’s looking forward to it.

“You pick!” 

Kobra laughs but turns down the hallway that leads back towards the cafeteria and med wing. He lets her run ahead a bit, though she never strays too far, and answers the million and one questions he was already expecting her to ask.

__________________________________________

When Ghoul steps into the room, Poison’s sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. He worries instantly but once they hear him come in, they’re lifting their head and waving him over.

Once he gets closer he’s able to tell that they’re not just sitting on the floor. There’s a small, blank book in their lap and they’re holding a pencil in one hand.

“What’cha doin’?” Ghoul asks as he sits down beside them, close enough for their knees to touch.

Poison runs a hand through their hair and turns the book towards him.

“Just drawin’. Benz said it might help.”

The page has abstract, streaking lines of various shades of grey shaded out from the middle. It’s not finished but Ghoul can sort of tell what it’s supposed to be. 

It feels like falling, that weird lurch in your stomach right before you go down. 

“Does it?” he finds himself asking as he absently runs a finger over the page."Help, I mean."

Poison shrugs. “Sorta. Right now ‘m just doin’ what I see in my sleep. Like, how it feels?”

Ghoul nods even though he only sort of understands what they mean. 

Poison doesn’t say anything for a long time, long enough for Ghoul to wonder if he was supposed to actually say something in response to what they said.

“You did your hair,” Poison remarks, catching Ghoul completely off guard.

“Huh?”

“You’re hair,” they say again, a smile breaking on their face. “Did Jet braid it?”

Oh. Right. That was like the whole _reason_ he came to find them in the first place.

Self conscious now that they’ve pointed it out, Ghoul plays with the end of his pants leg. None of the pants the Youngbloods had fit him properly. Either they were gigantic around his waist or they were so long that he tripped over them. This pair fits though, mostly. He only has to pull them up occasionally and if he rolls up the pants leg, he doesn’t trip.

He focuses on that, on missing the pair of jeans he had in the fight that fit him _perfect_. The pair that apparently were unsalvageable. Then again, he’s told he _did_ bleed a lot. Not that he remembers.

“I like it,” Poison tells him softly, bringing a hand up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

Ghoul can’t help it, he blushes. His stomach flutters like it’s the first time Poison called him something other than a curse word. They weren’t too fond of him at first, especially not when he wouldn't even talk to them. (Not that him not speaking was a choice but still.)

But looking at them now, how soft their expression is and how they haven't moved their hand away, you’d never be able to tell.

Especially when they lean in and capture his lips in a kiss, whispering about how beautiful he is every time they pull back for a breath.

_________________________________________________

“I wanna _help_,” Poison instists.

Benz sighs and pushes his glasses further up on his nose. He even looks to Sandman for help but, as usual, the jerk offers no assistance.

“Look,” Benz begins slowly. “I know you want to jump back into things but I really think you should just take it easy for a bit.”

“Why?” Poison demands, gesticulating with their fork. 

“Just because you’re doing better, _doesn’t_ mean you’re ready to start working again.”

Benz feels bad for how blunt he’s being, especially since he's aware this is a sensitive subject. But Poison isn’t going to listen unless he tells them how it is. They can’t _afford_ for them to be helping with a project, or god forbid a run or something of the like, and have a flashback triggered. Until Benz is _certain_ that Poison will be able to get through a possibly triggering situation, he’s not letting them go back to work.

“I can’t just sit around,” Poison counters, though their argument is weaker. “I _gotta_ help somehow.”

He knows that it's bothering them, watching the others in their crew begin to help with smaller scaled jobs right now. Jet’s shadowing Benz most days and he almost dreads to think of what Kobra and Stakes might be up to. Even Ghoul is spending time helping prepare for the runs into the City that begin soon.

There’s about to be a lot more people down here and while the extra help would be nice, Benz just isn’t ready to let Poison put themself at risk.

A part of the reason their mental health deteriorated this badly is because of their refusal to give themself a break. They need to take time to heal, in more ways than one.

“You _are_ helping,” Benz assures them as he takes a sip of his coffee before it can go cold. “You’re getting your health back and you’re keeping the kid company. Both of those things are just as important as the jobs the others are doing.”

Poison pouts and takes another bite. They’ve been steadily regaining their appetite and, now, Benz is glad to say they’re at a healthier weight. He knows that stress was a major factor in their reluctance to eat, but he’s continuing to keep an eye on them. Just in case.

“I know,” Poison says at last, sounding defeated. “But ‘m just not used ‘t sitting around all day. Isn’t there _anythin' _I could do where I wouldn’t be at a risk or whatever?”

“Well…”

Instantly Poison sits up straight and leans forward eagerly. They look so much like the teenager they are that Benz momentarily second guesses what he was going to say. But it’s not like what he had in mind would be particularly strenuous on their mental or physical health. Maybe having a task to focus on could help them? Having a routine _is_ proven to help with certain mental illnesses. 

“Sandman,” he says, elbowing him to get his attention. 

Sandman curses and rubs his arm with a scowl. “What? I was _listening_.”

Benz ignores the childish whining in his best friend's voice, though he can't say that a part of him doesn't enjoy it a bit. As a small payback for Sandman hiding his pens yesterday.

“Do you still need someone to monitor the radio frequencies in he desert?”he asks, praying Sandman will catch on.

It takes him a second but Benz watches his face light up once it clicks.

“Oh!”He turns to Poison with a grin. “Yeah, that’d be _perfect_. You’d just have to sit there and make sure nothing is going wrong or anything. Pretty boring but it’d be something, ya know?”

“Plus,” Benz adds. “You already have experience with the radio.”

Poison looks like they’ve just offered them the keys to the Underground but they’re quick to mask their excitement. The bored, cocky look is back and they shrug their shoulders as if they could care less. As if they hadn’t been _begging_ for a job less than a minute ago.

God teenagers should come with a retirement plan. Benz is going to end up with even more grey hairs thanks to these four. He’s already found new ones!

“That’d be fine,” Poison says nonchalantly. 

“Good,” Sandman says, apparently undeterred by Poison’s mood change. “You can start whenever. Johnson is on the radio right now but we can make it a sort of shift thing. So neither of you are on it constantly.”

Poison nods like they could care less. It occurs to Benz that maybe this shift in their excitement isn’t just an act to hide their enthusiasm. 

Then again, the last time they were on that radio was on Jet and Kobra’s run last week. It’s very likely _not_ a pleasant memory for the job to be attached to.

“We could always find something else,” Benz ventures innocently.

“What’d you mean?”

“Well that’d get boring fast, I’m sure. Maybe you could help us draw up the routes the teams will be taking. For the runs into the City this week.”

For a second, Poison looks like they’re going to take his way out. He knows they can tell that he’s caught on. But, to his surprise, they just shake their head.

“Na,” they say, a real smile returning. “Th’ waves I can handle. You don’t want me ‘round maps. I’d get you lost.”

Benz doubts that highly but he doesn’t call them out. If they’re confident they can do this, he’s not going to doubt them. 

____________________________________

Poison never expected to actually _enjoy_ sitting around waiting for random people to broadcast something.

It should be boring as hell and, at first, they were looking forward to it. They've had enough excitement for a while.

But now it’s been like 2 days and they’ve already found themself looking forward to the scattered shifts manning the radio that they’re allowed to take.

Benz and the others are all still adamant about Poison taking a break and _resting_\- they swear to the Witch, if _one_ more person tells them to take it easy they’re gonna start screaming. 

But about five hours a day they get to spend in the control room, listening in for any ‘joy or desert dweller’s broadcasts. It keeps their head out of shit they shouldn't be worrying over.

And normally it’s mundane shit. Like crews talking about reconvening at some random cactus out in 3. Other times Poison has to listen to firefights. There’s always that bone chilling announcement of Dracs and then the waves will go silent. Poison always prays then, prays and waits for the radio chatter to come back. 

That’s not their favorite part, not by a long shot. Hell, they’ve had to step away a couple of times because hearing the broken shouts of crews fighting for their lives reminded them too much of _their_ crew fighting for their lives.

But no, their favorite part is undoubtedly listening to Doc’s broadcasts. He’s playing music again, after he managed to get his equipment set up in his new location. (He’s already moved from where Kobra and Jet met him.) Listening to the, albeit shitty quality, music always makes Poison’s day. They can imagine they’re back in the AM, windows down and bass resonating in their bones as they all scream along to the song. They miss that. That freedom.

But this is for the best, Poison knows that. They can see how happy their crew is, how safe. The Girl had ice cream for the first time last night. She and Ghoul had never had it before and they’d both eaten so much that they’re currently sick. Though they both swear up and down that it was worth it. 

Poison taps their foot along to the beat of the song currently blasting through the headphones they have connected to the radio. Around them, everyone else in the control room is working diligently. Though, the music is definitely loud enough for them to hear because Poison spots a couple of people bobbing their heads along. Good. 

Just as the guitars fade out, leaving a long, hanging high note lingering, Doc’s voice spills through the speakers. 

“Evening tumbleweeds. It’s been a pretty quiet day, save for the firefight out in One today. No neon souls ‘ve been lost but there’s a good number of Dracs left behind. Steer clear of the area ‘till th’ City collects the bodies, folks. Other than that,” Doc pauses as if he doesn’t really want to say the rest of the news, which of course draws Poison's attention. “ ‘m sure you’ve all heard about our up ‘n coming crew. They're gainin’ fame fast and killing Dracs faster. Word on the waves is that they have a fiery red head of their own callin’ the shots and it _ain’t_ our resident crash queen, Party Poison. Who we all know went up in smoke less than a month ago. No, this bold ‘joy goes by the name Val Velocity and, apparently, he's got somethin' to prove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm evil, I'm sorry. But like, I Had to end it there. You gotta know that this story isn't over quite yet. And what better way than with a cliff hanger??
> 
> So, I have a lot to say about this fic so please forgive my rambling.
> 
> First, I just wanna thank everyone who's helped/ encouraged me over the six or so months I've been posting this fic. From all of you lovely readers who've made this my second most read fic, to my real life friends who offered advice, to my mom who actually helped me pick out the Four's real names. And, especially, to Paula. She's my beta reader but also one of my best friends! Truthfully, most of the plot ideas and everything was run by her before I ever even wrote them. She's helped me so much and I honestly wouldn't have been able to do this without her. <3 <3
> 
> As always, this fandom holds a special place for me. Maybe it's because the universe is so open for interpretation. No one's hcs are the same, no one's characterization is identical. And that's Important. Hell, that's basically the entire message of the album/comics. Individuality and creativity are important and they're you're greatest weapon. So, needless to say, this fic is very personal to me. I poured a lot of myself into it, into the characters. (Poison got the brunt of my self projection, sorry) 
> 
> I think I said this early on in this fic, but I wanna say it again here too. My hcs about this universe are constantly changing. They're different than they were when I started this fic. And they're going to continue to change in small ways. I don't think there ever will be a "perfect" characterization or plot for this universe, by me or anyone else. And again, that's the whole Point. But the great thing about that, is that this story evolved along with my personal hcs. I made Kobra trans on a whim, bc I felt like it fit his character. That it fit who I thought he was. And that's not to say it doesn't mean anything, I could go on for ages about how much it means that he was able to figure out his gender identity After he left the City. And while it might have been a last minuet decision, much like how I realized I never specified the ybs gender identity/ sexualities, it does mean something.
> 
> And I know for a fact that I've said this before, but I'm going to say it again because it's important. If one person reading this is able to see a character and think, wow, that person is kinda like me for x reason. Then all of it's worth it. For a lot of people, things like fics, movies, and books are the only place they're able to see people like them. And that's important. Because no one should feel like they're alone in the world. I found my own identity through this fandom and I dunno, I just hope that I've helped someone in some way, however small, by writing this. Cause that's the whole point.
> 
> Alright, I'm pretty sure this end note is longer than the actual chapter. And i'm sorry for that. But yeah, thank you all so much for reading and for all of your love and support throughout this fic. I have other projects coming up soon but the sequel to this should be out in a few months. Until then, I love you all.  
Keep Running  
-mouse  
<3

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick mention, the killjoys aren't My Chem. I've given them new names that will come into play in other chapters! The same goes for The Youngbloods. They are based off of Fall Out Boy but they're not actually them. So, for clarification:  
Mr. Sandman- based off of Pete Wentz  
Dr. Benzedrine- based off of Patrick Stump  
Neon Phantom- based off of Andy Hurley  
(High) Stakes- based off of Joe Trohman


End file.
